When You're Falling Behind in this Big Blue World
by alwaystrying
Summary: Beth survives the gunshot wound, but disfigured and without her recent memories intact. Daryl watches the hope drain out of her, knowing that unless he ignites a spark in her the way she once had done for him, they'd lose her forever, even if she's still breathing. [Note: Alternative ending to Coda. Title is a lyric from Tom Wait's song "Hold On," which Beth sings in the prison.]
1. Nothin' We Survived, S'all

"Stand down!" the woman officer said.

The adrenaline had him on fire. He could barely breathe, trying to choke back the tears.

_Beth._

His hands were cemented around the gun handle. He knew he'd just mowed down the cop, and he didn't give two fucks what the consequences were.

_Beth!_

He wanted to drop to his knees, put his fingers to her slender neck and find it thrumming with life. But he couldn't. He knew he'd feel nothing and then it would be final. His own heart felt like it was barely beating. He couldn't swallow. His lips curled, thick with thirst.

"Daryl. Daryl!" Rick's face swam in front of him, looking as ragged and shocked as he felt. Splattered blood ringed his neck and dotted his face in a gruesome reminder of what had just happened. "Daryl. Give me the gun. Give it to me. It's _over._"

Daryl surprised himself by being able to spit out, "ain't _over_!" He spun around until his eyes focused on the tall, thin man in the white coat. His breath hitched. "You! You're a doctor, ain't ya? Come'n check her out."

The man grew pale. The officers slowly parted and the doctor made his way to the front, carefully stepping around his fallen leader and the oozing pool that outlined Beth's head. "It's, uh, unlikely…" he started, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Daryl waved the gun in his face. "Just check her!" He was aware he was acting like a madman. He felt like one, burning coals and bile, a snake waiting to strike. As the man knelt down, Daryl felt a small hand grip his own shoulder. He didn't need to turn around to know that it was Carol, nor did shrug her off as he might've done once. Instead, his eyes settled on that cop he'd blown away-_Dawn-_and stared at the neat, round hole that pierced her forehead. It reminded him of the ring of bracelets that encircled Beth's wrists, hiding the angry, jagged scar, the one she'd made with the mirror shard so long ago when she questioned whether she wanted to live. In comparison to what Beth had done to herself, Daryl's work was that of a precision surgeon.

_What's yer little filly gone 'n done to herself this time, baby brother? She ain't comin' back from this one. This ain't no teenage cry for attention. She ASKED to have her pretty little self laid out for the preacher. _"Shut yer damn piehole, Merle," he mumbled under his breath to his vision of Merle and what the man might've said, had he not made himself walker bait.

When the doctor finally pulled aside Beth's matted hair to get to her skin, the hallway seemed to tilt at an angle, as if gravity itself no longer had to obey the rules. Black cobwebs tugged at the edges of his vision. He swayed. Carol's hand tightened on his shoulder.

"Daryl." It was Rick's voice again, equal parts alarm and grief. Daryl tried to blink away the cobwebs and focus on Rick, whose hand was outstretched, fingers curling inward with encouragement. He looked down at the pistol in his own hands and back up at the man he'd come to think of as his brother. Rick nodded with approval, and something shifted inside of him. He felt himself surrendering the gun. Carol's hand slipped from him, replaced by Rick's, who firmly clamped him on the shoulder. "Good man,"Rick said, softly. Daryl didn't respond, watching Beth's white-blond hair slowly turning a sickeningly shade of pink from the river of red.

The doctor felt one place with the pads of his fingers, then moved his hands to another. When he looked up, his eyes were wide. "Good God!" he said. "She...has a pulse!"

Daryl heard a series of gasps. Maybe one even escaped his own lips; he wasn't sure. He stumbled back as the hallway turned into a beehive of activity. The cops shouted and barked orders, making him feel even more out of sorts. He watched, almost out-of-body, as Beth was lifted gently onto a gurney and sped down the hall.

Merle's voice wormed its way into his mind again, as if on cue: _"Pansy-ass Darlene, gonna pass out like a little swooning girl, huh? Speakin' of girl, couldn't keep your own little Tootsie Roll safe could ya? Teeny, young sweet thang like that. How you ever think you could take care of a real woman, brother?"_

"Sit," someone commanded him. It was Tyreese. His large face was uncomfortably close to Daryl's as he was shoved, hard, into a chair. He'd never let anyone push him like that before and get away with it, but he was actually thankful someone had forced him down before he crumbled on his own. "Try to breathe more slowly," Tyreese said, "before you keel over, man."

He heard Noah's voice swimming in the distance. "I'm… I'm… sorry. I...I... didn't mean for her to…I'll go and see..." Daryl blinked away the blackness just in time to see Sasha quiet Noah with a look. The young man shook his head, turned and limped down the hallway after the caravan.

Daryl stood so quickly the chair fell backward. "Not without me, you ain't," he growled. He jogged the few steps to catch up to Noah and ignored Tyresee's pleas to sit back down.

* * *

><p>"Bullet went clean through. Missed her brain by a hairs' breadth. It was the trajectory of the bullet that saved her. Missed her major blood vessels. Her eye's gone, obviously. Her skull's a mess, but we patched it up the best we could."<p>

"So…she'll live?" Noah asked, clutching the bedrail with white knuckles.

"Noah," said Dr. Edwards impatiently. "You know as well as I do that there's no way to know. Only time will tell. We'll do the best we can for her."

"You'll do more'n that," Daryl croaked menancingly. "You'll figure it out 'cause ya _owe_ it to her. Y'all do." He stood by the door, Rick close at his side.

"She'll live," Rick nodded in agreement, head tilted to one side. "_She'll live_."

Daryl knew the doctor was scared shitless of them. He could see in his eyes the look he and his brother Merle got countless times. Now, he was glad of it. He pushed further inside the room, dragging a chair to her bedside. He made it a point to sideswipe the doctor, making him practically jump out of his skin and out of the way.

"She, um, needs to rest," the doctor declared weakly.

Daryl plopped down in the seat and glared up at him. He stretched his legs to mark even more territory as his own. "She'll rest just fine with me sittin' here. Ain't leavin' her alone with you people, not after what ya done."

He shook the hair out of his eyes and gave a quick glance to confirm with Rick, who drawled in confirmation, "that's right."

The four of them stared at Beth, saying nothing. The entire side right side of her head was swathed in a red-tinged bandage, wrapped so she looked like a teen heading out on Halloween night as a mummy. The machine hummed beside her, the little blip that was her pulse casting shadows on her face.

The lightbulb buzzed and dimmed, then glowed full-force. Rick cleared his throat. "How long 'til she wakes up," he asked, breaking the long silence.

"Should be soon now," the doctor replied, lifting her eyelids and examining her pupils. "But she might not remember the accident." He checked the machines and muttered, "trauma's a funny thing."

"Ain't nothin' _funny_ about it," Daryl shot back. "And ain't no _accident." _On instinct, he reached and took Beth's soft hand in his calloused one, remembering back to the time where she'd intertwined her fingers with his by the gravestone. He felt, rather than saw, Rick's gaze settle on how his hand was pressed to hers. _At least the man has enough sense not to say anything_, he thought, _unlike like my own real asshole brother would've. _

Rick cleared his throat again. "Let's go," he said. "Only one of us needs to be here when she wakes up. Will be too overwhelming, otherwise. Daryl—" he bent down to be near Daryl's ear,"you call us, soon as she stirs, y'hear?"

He grunted in return, not letting her hand go, not looking up, either. He didn't want any questions. Not now, not _ever._

* * *

><p>Daryl had fallen asleep, Beth's hand still enclosed in his thick paw. It wasn't a deep sleep, more like a drunken stupor. He'd slid in and out of consciousness, wondering what was real and what he'd dreamt. Images of Dawn's head snapping back as he put her down. Beth's cast peeking through her sweater sleeve. The feel his hand on the Beth's back when she was released to the group. Holding her in his arms, smelling her hair, telling her he <em>did<em> miss her when she was gone. That defiant sound in her voice when she said, "I get it," right before she stabbed Dawn.

As soon as her fingers twitched, however, his eyes flew open and he knew exactly what was going on, what was real and what wasn't. And it stung, bad. He itched to tell her what he didn't get a chance to before, that _yes_, goddamn it, he missed her, annoying singing, ridiculous optimism and all.

"Doc! Get in here!" He hollered, more out of panic than anything else. He was afraid maybe she'd have a seizure or something and he wouldn't have the slightest idea what to do. The doctor must've been sitting outside the door, because he was in the room within seconds. He worked around Daryl, checking machines and looking into her eyes with a little flashlight.

"What's happening?" Daryl demanded.

The man didn't answer at first, mumbling to himself as he continued his examination. Finally he said, "looks like she's waking up, is all. I have to warn you, she…I mean, I think she might…"

"Ya just keep your thoughts to yerself." Daryl interrupted.

"I'll be right outside if you need me," he sighed, shaking his head as he headed toward the door.

Daryl stared at her for what seemed like hours. When her one eye began to flutter open, his heart seized. "Beth. Ya hear me? I found ya. We all did. We're all here with ya. S'ok now."

"What… what happened?" Her voice sounded small and scared, like a child's. Her lips were cracked and swollen, and she had trouble bending them to form the words.

Daryl tried to force himself to speak, but whenever he started, he felt hot needles prick the back of his eyeballs and the lump grew larger in his throat.

" 'Scuse me?" she said, turning her head slightly in his direction. She moaned. Her other hand started to find its way up to her head, and he stopped her by placing his free hand gently over her roving one. "I… don't…" she began. "Mister… where am I?"

Daryl gaped at her, not knowing how to respond. He turned toward the door and shouted, "Rick!" He dropped his hands from hers, worried that his touch had somehow triggered something bad. "Doc!"

The two men, plus Noah, Carol and Sasha came barreling into the room. Their faces were twisted at first, as if they had expected the worst. But when they saw Beth's single bright blue eye staring at them, they all broke out into relieved smiles.

"Beth!" Carol exclaimed, running up to her bedside and kissing her cheek.

"Welcome back, honey," said Rick, his voice breaking, leaning over the bed. Sasha was beside him, her rifle slung over her shoulder, her hands clasped together almost as if in prayer.

Only Noah and Dr. Edwards hung back, watching her reaction. Her one eye scanned one person and then another, eventually sliding back again to the first. "Something's not right," the young man whispered to the doctor.

Daryl overheard and roughly pulled the doctor to the side. "Damn straight something ain't right," he whispered back. "She don't remember who I am."

Despite their lowered voices, the room was small, and Rick and the others heard the conversation. Carol was the first to react. She sat gently on the side of the bed, holding Beth's hand. "Beth, honey. You know who I am?"

Beth smiled weakly. "'Fraid I don't, ma'am. But you know me, seems." Her face brightened for a moment. "You know my daddy?"

Carol looked crestfallen. She glanced at Rick, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Sure," she replied. "I know Hershel. I love Hershel."

Beth sighed. "Oh, thank the Lord. I was beginin' to think I was in here all alone. Where is he? Where's daddy?" She tried to push herself up, but Carol patted her back down. "Hush. You get some rest first. We'll tell you more after you've had a nap. You're safe."

"I… I guess I am a little sleepy, and my head hurts somethin' awful." She yawned. "You got an aspirin or somethin'? Miss… what'd you say your name was?"

Carol patted her hand. "Carol. My name's Carol. This here is Rick," she motioned toward the ex-sheriff. "And beside him is Sasha. That's Noah and Doctor Stephen Edwards- we call him Doc Stephen- -by the machines, there. And over there…" she said, nodding toward the man who had slid back into the corner. "That's Daryl. You don't remember just yet, but you're old friends. We're _all_ old friends."

"Daryl," she mouthed, turning toward him. "Old friends." He risked a glance at her eye, sorry he did. There was zero recognition. She yawned again. "I'm just so...tired…" She let her lid droop shut and Daryl stiffened as Doc Stephen drew something in a syringe. Without hesitation he thrust himself between the tall man and the bedridden girl.

"What's that for? What're puttin' in her?"

"It's just a sedative. Help her sleep better. What she needs most right now." The doctor turned his attention from Daryl and eyed Carol. Daryl followed suit, his narrowing icy eyes settling on Carol's honest, gray ones.

"It's okay, Daryl," she soothed. He winced as he watched the doctor slide the needle into the girl's arm. Carol rose from the bed and she and Rick together motioned to Daryl.

"Come on, brother." Rick said. "She needs rest. She'll be more herself when she wakes up. Ya can wait right outside if ya like, I'll sit with ya."

"Ain't leavin' her alone," Daryl growled angrily. "Don't none of ya' tell me to leave her alone, _EVER_." He checked himself and stopped. "Just want 'er to be...safe," he added in a more even tone.

He caught Carol smiling sadly at Rick as she said, "You go ahead, Rick…Noah. Get some rest. I'll stay with them. Sasha, keep watch outside the door?" Daryl swore Rick and Carol exchanged a knowing glance of sorts, which pissed him off even more.

_They don't know nothin', _he thought bitterly.

Doc Stephen followed the others out of the room, and Daryl kept his mouth shut, throwing himself back down in the chair. To her credit, Carol didn't say much at first. After a while, though, she started making small talk about how Beth looked good, considering, and that from what she knew it wasn't unusual for people to have some temporary memory loss after such an injury. Daryl understood the woman was trying to make him feel better, but the chatter sounded like a jackhammer in his brain. He wanted quiet. Needed it.

"Ya promise ta stay with her?" Daryl asked suddenly, after not having said a word the entire time Carol spoke.

"'Course."

"Goin' for a smoke," he grumbled. He stood up, stretched his arms over his head, and left the room, not daring to look back. One glance at Beth's face, all peaceful, almost deathly, might send him over the edge, and he sure as hell wasn't gonna go cryin' again in front of Carol… he wasn't going to cry again in front of _any _of them. And he wasn't no _pansy-ass_, though Merle would have been right about one thing. He did a piss-poor job of keeping his girl safe.

_His_ girl. He sneered to himself. _She weren't my girl, never was gonna be. Nearly twice her age and three times as dumb. _He sauntered down the hall, wondering if Rick and the others had taken rooms in which to sleep for the night. How anyone could close their eyes he didn't know, not with Beth in there more than half dead, eye shot out, no memory of any of them, in this insane asylum of a hospital.

_And where the hell is Maggie?_ He cursed Beth's older sister, leaving for DC like that, wondering if her presence here could be the magic pill; after all, Beth remembered her daddy. Certainly she'd remember Maggie, too, even though she didn't seem to give a rat's ass about her baby sister. Selfish bitch only cared 'bout herself and her damn man. _At least my dumbass brother cared about me...in his own jackass way, _he thought to himself. He walked briskly to the end of the hall where two of the cops were stationed near the doors. They eyed him warily, but didn't put their hands anywhere near their weapons. Daryl pushed open the double doors with one hand, saying, "goin' for a smoke." They didn't try to stop him.

In the outer hallway, he leaned up against the wall, one boot crossed over the other. He pulled out a cigarette and tucked it between his lips, lighting it with his scratched up silver Bic. After a long drag, he let out a slow stream of smoke. As he took a second draw, he heard footsteps approaching. Instinct had his hand on his knife handle, his feet in fighting stance.

The door swung open and Sasha stood in front of him. She looked tired, almost sickly and certainly surprised to see him there. Her eyes were red as if she'd been crying, which she probably had. He'd noticed ever since Bob died she'd steal away and come back a while later looking all bloodshot and drained. No one, not even her brother Tyreese would go after her. She made it clear she didn't want anyone near, something Daryl understood all too well.

"S'thing wrong?" He asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

She shook her head no. "Everything's ok. Just needed a break. Tyreese is taking watch." She looked toward the elevator shaft and shuddered. "Can I?" she asked, reaching for the cigarette. He shrugged, handing it over to her. He was a bit taken aback as she took an experienced puff. He watched her from the corner of his eye, sucking in the smoke and allowing the tendrils to drift evenly, almost elegantly, out of her nostrils and mouth.

He expected her to start prying any second, but she didn't. She just shook her head and simply said, "at least she's alive, Daryl. Right now, that's gotta be enough." She took one last drag and handed the burning butt back to him.

He felt bad not knowing what to say to her, seeing her all ripped up and raw from Bob's death, but all he could muster was, "Damn shame, what those assholes did to him."

Sasha nodded. "Thanks."

They stood there in silence for a moment or two more, finishing another cigarette together. Then Daryl, feeling steadier after the smoke, motioned for her to go back down the hallway. Together they went through the doors, ignoring the sentries again. At the end of the hall Daryl turned left toward Beth's room. Sasha reached out and stopped him before he got far. "Don't you go flying off the handle at that doctor, Daryl. He's all Beth has right now, her only chance to pull out of this ok."

_"_She ain't gonna be _ok_, ever," he groused. "But that doctor best pray he does it right, whatever the hell he learned with that fancy college education, to make it so she can get out of this damned hellhole, a'least."

He continued down the hallway alone until he reached Beth's door. Tyreese cocked his head toward the opening. "Go on in. Beth's still out cold'." Daryl walked through, his boots clicking on the linoleum floor, and settled back in the chair beside the bed. Carol looked exhausted but smiled at his return. "Welcome back."

"How's..." he inclined his head toward the bed, not wanting to say her name.

"Same. Sleeping." She slowly rolled up one of her shirt sleeves and then the other. "Daryl…" she started, after a time.

"Uh huh?"

"She's not Sophia."

Daryl glared at her, hard. "No, she ain't."

"I mean, she's not gonna die. She's gonna pull through. She's strong."

"The hell? I know _that_," he replied, kicking the bed frame lightly, not knowing what to do with his limbs. He risked a peek at Beth's face, still slack with slumber. His eyes softened and he longed to pick up her hand again, but didn't. _Couldn't._ In fact, he pushed his chair a fraction further away from the bedside. Carol looked from him to Beth and back again. Daryl, sensing that she was guessing at something, couldn't bite back the groan that escaped from his lips.

"Daryl?" she asked, raising one eyebrow. He suspected what was coming and cut it off before it could start.

"_Nothin',"_ he replied forcefully to her unspoken question. "We survived._ S'all_."


	2. Cause What?

When Beth finally, truly, awoke, two days later, not much had changed. She chatted about Hershel, about the horses on the farm, about the time Shawn fell out of the tree house and broke his nose. Clearly she had no memory of the turn, of her mother and brother being consumed by the dead, of Hershel being beheaded. And of course she had no idea Maggie and Glenn had gone to Washington, DC with the newcomers. Hell, she didn't even appear to know Glenn _existed_. She seemed to think Maggie was at college.

"She told me ta come and visit her at school and stay in her dorm, but Maggie's always bossin' me around. It's embarrassin'," she told Sasha on one occasion.

Daryl, overhearing the conversation from his perch outside the door, peered in. He saw Sasha wink at Beth. "Maggie can be a little bossy at times," she agreed. Beth giggled, which didn't make him feel any better. If anything, his heart shattered a little more. It seemed as if she were stuck inside her 15-year-old self, safe, living in her mind in a time and place way before the dead started walking the earth, turning everything to shit.

And yet, she was with it enough to know that things weren't adding up. They told her she'd been in a car accident, which she seemed to accept at first, but then she'd brought up how she didn't have her own car and her daddy never let her drive the truck off the property alone. She'd ask what year it was, or how old she was. Her face would screw up at the answers, trying to make sense of it all. "I'm 18? _Eighteen_? Why, I'm old enough to have a drink…if I wanted it, that is. Not that I do…'cause of daddy 'n all…" her voice trailed off. "But maybe… I mean, now that I'm 18, I can have a _damn_ drink if I want it." She gave a nervous little laugh. "And dunno why, but I think I'd like to learn how ta hunt. My daddy hunts sometimes with Otis, but I never wanted to go before. Maybe I'd be good at it, y' know?"

Daryl felt a pang of regret, remembering how he'd poured her that first drink months ago at the moonshine cabin they'd triumphantly burned down. How he patiently taught her how to track and hunt. Hell, he didn't even know he had it in him to be so patient. It sure as hell felt like a punishment, though, hearing her talk about all the things she said she wanted to do that she'd actually already done…with _him._

_Blessin' in disguise she don't recollect none of it. Shouldn't have been doing those things with me a'tall, anyway,_ he told himself, more than once. He believed they should have happened with someone her age, in happier times. Instead she'd had her first drink with a dumbass redneck in some filthy shack that was a mirror of his pathetic reality when he was the age she's at now. And the way he'd yelled at her, accused her of all those things... said she was acting like some dumb college bitch. Even if in the end she could take him being a dick, and give it right back to him, it haunted him.

He knew it wasn't their fault, really, lying to Beth like that about her injury, about her daddy, or the state of what was left of the fucked-up world. The doctor had advised them all to play along until she was stronger. That woman they'd held captive-Officer Shepherd-she, too, agreed. She'd helped the doctor during the surgery and doted on Beth perhaps more than the doctor himself.

But whereas Doc Stephen, Shepherd and the others seemed to have no problem playing make believe, it made Daryl's stomach churn. He suspected Noah was the only other one who felt similarly, as he always seemed to hold back and address only questions he could genuinely answer. If she veered toward anything personal, he changed the subject. Quick. Daryl avoided it altogether by only venturing into her room while she was deep in sleep. Occasionally, he'd shut the door to make sure no one was within earshot, pull his chair up close to her bed and whisper stories in her ear about peach schnapps and serious piggyback rides. He'd tell her about learning to use the crossbow-_his_ crossbow-and how she'd gotten so excited about some mangy ol' stray dog…

* * *

><p>On the third day after Beth's surgery, Daryl could tell from Rick's twitching and pacing that he was itching to get back to Carl and L'il Asskicker. If Rick decided to leave, he knew he wouldn't be able to go along, even if the others stayed behind with Beth. He<em> couldn't.<em> He hadn't approached Rick yet because he didn't know if he'd be able to say what he wanted, or how he wanted to say it. He'd screw it up and Rick would get the wrong idea. Last thing he wanted to deal with now was _that._

Carol found Daryl near the elevator shaft, smoking another cigarette. ""Going through those awfully quick," she remarked.

"They gonna kill me or somethin'?" He peered at her through his messy fringe.

She ignored his question. "Beth's sleeping if you want to go on in and be with her. Her appetite's improved. Noah's been doing arm and leg exercises with her while in bed, but Stephen thinks she should be able to get up and walk around a little bit tomorrow. Carol rubbed the crook of her arm absentmindedly.

"Same blood type, you 'n her, I guess." He exhaled a measured amount of smoke. "S'good," he murmured.

"I don't mind. Got universal blood type," she responded. "Glad I can help somehow. Shepherd's good at taking it, doesn't even hurt. She's not really a cop, y'know," she added. "She's a trained EMT. _Was_, I mean. That's why she's been helping Doc Stephen so much."

"Wondered why she was hoverin'. Y'know, considerin' we held her captive, n'all. Sure we can trust 'er?" Daryl squinted and tossed his head in the direction of the cops on the other side of the door. Every once in a while they would peer in through the glass panes, Daryl knew, ready to react if they thought for one second that he posed a threat.

Carol considered this for a moment. "As much as we can trust anyone, I suppose. She wasn't on Dawn's side, that's for sure. She believes Noah, what he told her about our group. She told me she's thinking of taking Rick up on his offer and leaving with us. For good, I mean, when we get out of here.

He picked at a thread in his jeans, waiting to hear whatever else the woman had to say.

"Well… didn't come to talk about blood transfusions or Shepherd. Came to tell you, Rick needs to get back to Carl and Judith. He wants to talk to you about it tonight. He's fixing to leave tomorrow."

Daryl froze, not expecting to have to broach the subject so soon.

"We think Sasha, Noah and Shepherd should stay here with Beth, 'til she's strong enough to be moved by car back to the church, or wherever else Rick scouts out to hole up for a while 'til she can handle the trip to DC. Come morning he, Tyreese and I will head back to the church. He's waiting to hear what you want to do." She crossed her arms. "Rick suspects you'll want to stay here… because…well…" She halted mid-sentence, gesturing with her hand in a "you know" sorta way.

"'Cause what?" He snuffed out the butt on the ground with his heel and tapped out a new stick, pausing a moment to light it.

"Just...because," she said, her voice even.

Daryl felt his hackles rise. "Ya'll don't know nothin'," he said aloud, repeating the same words he thought to himself the other day.

Carol put her hands on her hips and looked him square in the eye. "We know plenty," she said boldly. "We're not as blind as you think, and your feelings aren't near as camouflaged as you'd like to believe." She huffed and turned, forcefully banging open the double doors. "And furthermore," she said before she let them swing shut. "Remember when I said in that office building across the street that there was something different about you… that you'd become a _man_?" she glared at him. "Maybe I was wrong."

The doors flapped behind her and through the glass panels Daryl saw the cops scoot out of the wiry woman's way. Daryl remained on the other side, cigarette dangling between his teeth, silently acknowledging that he'd been put in his place. Merle would've had a field day...


	3. In My Dreams

Daryl figured Carol must've said something to Rick, because later that night the man approached him outside of Beth's room, simply saying, "Now, I reckon it's best for ya ta stay here with the group at Grady. We'll find a better place than the church to hunker down in 'til Beth's well enough for us all to leave and track down Maggie and Glenn."

He heard a Beth give a big yawn in the background. "So…tired." He wasn't surprised. The short walks over the past two days-Shepherd holding her up under one arm and Noah under the other-exhausted her. Daryl had watched silently from the end of the hallway, awed at her resolve.

Daryl glanced in the room just then at Carol, who seemed suspiciously preoccupied with folding and refolding the blanket at the end of Beth's bed.

"Hmmm," he replied. "Reckon you're right."

"It's done, then."

Daryl lifted his chin in agreement.

"Rick," Tyreese called loudly from down the hall. "I'm headed to the cafeteria to grab some supplies. You coming?"

"In a second," he called back. Facing Daryl, he said, "Shouldn't be gone more than three, four days at the most. Shepherd," he continued in a lowered voice, "she's fixin' to leave when I come back for ya. Will be a good thing, havin' someone like her 'round. Not just for Beth, good for Judy, too."

Carol slid out of the room just then. "I'll come with you to help grab supplies," she said to Rick. To Daryl she whispered, "Don't worry. She's sleeping. Don't have to be scared to go in, now."

Daryl's hands curled into fists. He was about to snarl back, "I ain't afraid of _nothin'!_" Except for one thing: She was right.

* * *

><p>Two days had gone by since Rick and his posse left, and Daryl greatly felt his absence. Despite the "lone wolf" mask, he'd come to rely on the ex-sheriff for a lot of things, not least of which was a sense of stability. Over the years, Rick had become an anchor in a sea of constant change…even more so after he witnessed what Rick could—<em>would<em>—do to keep his family safe. Watching him rip out Joe's jugular didn't make him think less of Rick; if anything, it made Daryl admire the man even more. Rick had done right by him. By them _all._

Without Rick around to ground him, or Carol to force him outside of himself, he strayed even further to the fringes, speaking only when absolutely necessary. Sasha or Noah made sure they brought him food from the cafeteria, and occasionally Sasha would share a cigarette with him. During one of these moments, she said with knitted brow, "Beth is awake for longer periods of time, and she's starting to ask more questions. Don't know how long we can keep this up."

"I ain't keepin' it up at all, so I can't help ya on that one."

"I noticed," she said, motioning for him to give her the cigarette. She breathed in the smoke and closed her eyes. "She's been asking about more...personal things."

"How so?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"She talks about some guy she knew, someone she used to sing to. I asked if she meant her boyfriend—"

Daryl interrupted her. "Y'mean Zack?" Funny how even now their damn romance novel of a relationship irritated him.

"No. Zack's name didn't jog any memories for her. She seems determined to figure it out and I can't help. What was the name of her boyfriend at the farm? I remember Maggie talking about him, once."

Daryl shuffled his feet, his annoyance growing. "Jimmy," he mumbled.

"I'll mention it to her. The doctor said that music can re-spark some memories. Wish I knew some of the songs she liked to sing."

Daryl rubbed the back of neck, Beth's melodic voice echoing in his head. He'd heard her sing tons of times. Inside the prison. Out in the yard. Sitting at the piano, at funeral home. _In my mother-fuckin' dreams. Every damn night, _he thought.

"You build it up, you wreck it down,

You burn your mansion to the ground.

When there's nothing left to keep you here,

you're falling behind in this big blue world.

Oh, you've got to hold on, hold on..

Babe, you've got to hold on.

Take my hand, I'm standing right here,

You've got to hold on."

Instead, he just shrugged. "Too bad Maggie ain't here," he said. "She'd know. They used to sing together...sometimes." He felt lucky that he managed to keep his voice from hitching, because right then he sure as hell was on the verge of losing his shit again. He pushed through the double doors, barking at the cops, "Oh, give it a rest, already. Go find yourself a hobby or s'thing."

* * *

><p>Note: Thanks for reading! The song lyrics are from Tom Waits' Hold On, the same song the title is derived from. Sorry it's so short, but I want to set the stage for something that's coming up and this just felt like the right time to end it.<p> 


	4. I'll Tell 'Er

Three days. Still no Rick and company.

Daryl wasn't worried, but he _was_ feeling growingly trapped in Grady. Whether it was the perfectly uniformed cops lurking at every corner, the gray, sterile hospital setting, or the fact that Beth seemed to be watching HIM rather than the other way around, he didn't know.

Noah, his limp now gone, handed him a tray as he sat outside her room. Daryl took it, noting that the young man had taken pains to get him some fresh bread, something Daryl had devoured with wild abandon when he first realized they had it there. It'd been way too long since he'd had bread that wasn't part moldy or brick-like in its staleness.

The young man pulled up a stool to sit next to him. "Ya wanna be my dinner date or somethin'?" Daryl asked ripping apart the bread and shoveling it into his mouth.

Noah snorted. "You're not my type."

Daryl picked up the stewed vegetables with his fingers, swallowed the food after barely chewing it, then licked his fingers one by one.

"That's disgusting," Noah said.

It reminded him of Beth's reaction to how he'd eaten the jelly at the funeral home. "If you ain't my date, why ya care," he shot back.

"Um…" the young man started. "Beth…"

"What about 'er," he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"She's been asking…."

"Yeah, yeah," he replied impatiently. "Sasha told me. Been asking about her old boyfriend. Jimmy I s'pect."

"No," Noah replied. "She's been asking," he paused, "she's been asking why you're avoiding her if, as Carol made it sound, the two of you were, you know, 'old friends.' "

Daryl grunted. "Ain't avoidin' her. Am in there ten times a day."

"Yeah," Noah laughed. "When she's out cold. Second she wakes up you're gone."

"What's it to ya?" Daryl retorted.

Noah shrugged. "It's ALL '_to_' me. You don't think I know it's my fault that she's in there now, skull shattered, half blind? I would do anything for her, including risk getting my head bitten off by you by telling you that you're hurting her feelings. She doesn't need any more pain than she already has. You've made her feel like she's done something wrong."

Daryl winced. "She say that?"

"She did. Wants to know if I know what she did to make you so mad at her. You think she doesn't notice how you take off the minute she starts talking? You act as if the very sound of her voice annoys the hell out of you. I don't blame her for thinking you can't stand her." He rolled his eyes. "Even though I know otherwise."

Daryl stopped eating, his greasy fingers hanging in mid-air. "Ya better watch whatcha say to me, boy."

Noah smiled. "You think I'm afraid of you? I've been beaten before for far less than speaking my mind. I can take it, including from you, if I have to."

Daryl squinted his eyes at Noah, sizing him up with new respect. The boy cared, and he himself understood that weight of feeling responsible. It dragged him down every waking moment, and during his nightmares, too.

"So, yeah." Noah continued. "Everything that has to do with Beth _is_ my business. She's hurt because of ME."

"Nah," Daryl said after taking a moment to try to tame his thoughts. "You ain't responsible for none of this. S'me. I allowed her to get taken in the first place. None of this woulda happened if I…"

"S'at right?" a voice interrupted. Both men jumped when they heard the tight, high voice right behind them.

"When you're both done blamin' yourselves for my situation, lemme know." Beth stood there, grasping the sides of a metal walker, so close that Daryl could smell the antiseptic Shepherd used to clean her arm before giving her an injection earlier on.

Neither of the men said anything. They just looked at each other, helpless. Daryl wondered how much she'd overheard.

"And what exactly do you mean, Daryl, that I was '_taken_'?" She looked pointedly at him with her one accusing, luminous eye.

Daryl cleared his throat. Noah looked everywhere but at her.

"I'm asking ya a _question_," Beth said, her voice strong. "And, YOU," she said, turning to glare at Noah. "Why would YOU feel responsible for MY car accident?"

The two men just looked at each other again, searching each other's gazes for clues at to what they should do. Daryl's thumb flew to his mouth and he started chewing on it. Noah rubbed the tip of one ear.

"Y'all pathetic," she said. "Ya both look like little boys who got caught stealing from the cookie jar."

She pushed the walker past them and headed up the hallway. "I might be broken," she called back to them, "but I ain't _stupid_."

* * *

><p>"I told you we weren't going to be able to keep this up much longer," said Sasha, shaking her head. "She's gotta be told."<p>

They were gathered in Doc Stephen's office: Sasha, Stephen, Sheperd, Noah and Daryl. Daryl had moved the painting that prominently sat near his desk to make room for them all. At least this one didn't look like a dog dragged its painted butt on canvas. This one had recognizable things. Like Jesus. _Lot of good he did for my family_, he mused. His momma had Jesus splayed on a cross over the very bed she set on fire with her cigarette, burning down their shack and killing her in the process.

"So…" Sasha continued, her hands on her hips. "We in agreement? She needs to know the truth."

Daryl ran a hand through his hair, remembering a similar situation where he'd discussed with the group who should tell Beth that Zack hadn't made it. No one wanted to do it, so he piped up. "The _hell_," he'd said. "Y'all bunch of cowards. So what if she cries and screams? She's a GIRL, whadda expect?" When he told her the news, however, she _hadn't_ cried. She _hadn't_ screamed. Instead, she'd asked HIM how HE was. Hugged him when he said he was tired of losing people. It was then he realized Beth wasn't a kid anymore. And that there was much more to her than he'd ever guessed.

Doc Stephen sighed. "She does need to be told, yes. It's time. She's made remarkable progress."

Daryl noticed he didn't offer up his services. No one else spoke up, either. After a moment he coughed, then said more confidently than he felt, "I'll tell 'er."

"You?" Sasha asked, incredulously. "You can't even bear to be around her when she's awake and asking _simple_ questions. You're gonna be the one to tell her the world's gone to hell and a cop shot her in the face?"

He nervously rubbed the stubble on his chin. They were all looking at him expectantly. "I said," he repeated gruffly, "I'll tell 'er."

Trudging out of the room with the others, he wondered what he'd just gotten himself into. But he also knew that he couldn't have anyone else talking to Beth about how fucked up everything is. And why. But deep down, he knew he'd volunteered because he needed to be the one to hold and support her, the way she did to him when he broke down at the cabin. It was the least he could do. He believed his own words to Noah: This whole damn thing was his fault.

* * *

><p>He decided to burn through his last cigarette before he ventured in to talk to the girl. Sasha caught up to join him, as she had been more regularly doing. He was beginning to suspect she tagged along not because she wanted to smoke, but because she wanted to talk about Tyreese with someone else who knew him. She was worried about her brother, and he got the sense she just wanted him to say, "he'll be fine." Frankly, he didn't think that was the case. Ty was a good man, and everyone knows what happens to good people in this ugly world.<p>

"You think Ty will stay with Carl and Judith? Maybe Michonne will come back with Rick and Carol, instead."

"Dunno." He lit the cigarette and held it out to her. She took a much longer drag than usual.

"My brother's a strong man, but somehow he still doesn't get it. If I lose him…" She stopped and handed him back the cigarette. "Sorry, Daryl," she said, her voice clipped. "I know you know what it's like to lose a brother."

He looked away as he smoked. "Yeah." It was barely audible.

"Listen," she continued. "If you want me there when you talk to Beth, just say the word. It's not going to be easy."

"No _shit_. But I'll deal."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he replied, though cold tendrils were climbing up his spine in anticipation of what was to come. "Y'can have the rest." He handed her the burning stick. He left her, cigarette in hand, and headed toward Beth's room, anxious that he might actually lose his nerve. He didn't remember the last time his palms were slick with nervous sweat. Not when he went after walkers. Not facing Lenny in the woods and fighting over the rabbit. Not even when he sat, gagged, at the trough awaiting slaughter by Gareth's men.

_You can't go back, _Gareth had said. Bastard was right. There was no going back, especially not for Beth. The memories she lost…they were gone forever. Regret tugged at his innards. Although it was good she wouldn't have to relive the nightmares she had endured, his heart took a nosedive at the thought that she'd never know how much she had changed his outlook, even if it had only been for a little while. How, for a sweet moment, she made him see there was still beauty left.

He chewed his thumb some more as he slowed his walk to give himself more time to think. _She's a kid inside, _he reminded himself. _She don't even know she's an adult. You gonna repulse her, if you tell her everything. Imagine her thinkin' some white trash guy so much older than her was…was…" _He stopped himself. Was _what?_ He didn't even know himself what the hell it was he'd been feeling, especially lying there in the coffin listening to her angelic voice as she played the piano and sang...for _him_. He just knew he felt different around Beth Greene. She made him want to be gentle. To care about things. To _hope_. She made him believe he might not be the biggest waste of space around. He remembered how he became hyperaware of every little move he made around her. How, after she laughed at the way he ate the jelly with his fingers, he made it a point to use a spoon. She made him want to be...a better man.

He realized that he'd accidentally walked far past Beth's room while he sifted through his feelings. Slowly he turned around to go back. By the time he'd reached her room, his thumb was raw and had started to bleed.

He took a deep breath and opened the door. Thankfully her head was tilted in the other direction and he didn't have to face her cool gaze immediately. Quietly grabbing the chair, he picked it up and moved it close to the bedside. He tugged at his jeans and sat down. Wringing his hands, he said softly, "Beth. Gotta talk to ya 'bout s'thing."

She didn't respond. Daryl assumed it was because she was still agitated with him for not answering her questions earlier.

"Beth. I really gotta..." It was then a tiny snore escaped her. Daryl sagged with relief.

Beth Greene was asleep. With this realization, Daryl lifted her hand and lightly brushed his lips on her knuckles...and then... he waited.


	5. Shush, Girl

"Daryl?"

_'__Daryl, you said there was a dog…'_

"Daryl?"

_'__Daryl, there are still good people…'_

"Daryl!"

He moaned.

"Daryyyyl…"

He jerked upright. That voice was real, not from his dream. He rubbed his face and realized Beth was looking at him; or rather, looking at the indentation in the mattress where his head had been, presumably for some time, based on how deep the dent was. It wound him up for some reason to know she'd been watching _him_ sleep instead of the other way around.

"Fell asleep, I guess."

"I guess," she echoed, sounding almost bored. "Ain't ya gonna run away now? I'm talkin' n'all, and it's no secret how much ya love _that_." She glowered, smoothing out the area his head had been resting.

He looked at her, exasperated. "I need ta say s'thing," he managed to get out.

There was a knock at the door, and without any wait time, the door pushed open. Shepherd stood with scissors in one hand and a fistful of fresh bandage rolls in the other. Doc Stephen was by her side.

"I gotta say s'thing," he repeated to her.

"Ya need to_ leave_," she instructed. "They gotta change my bandage."

"Why I gotta leave for that?" He asked, without thinking. Beth's face fell, and he cringed.

"Don't want anyone seein' me like that,_ obviously,_" she said crossly. Daryl felt she stopped herself just short of calling him a dumb-ass.

"Don't care 'bout that," he groused. He was desperate now just to let the truth tumble out, to get it over with. He wasn't used to feeling anxious, and it was pissing him off.

"Well, I _DO_," she said petulantly.

"Can't it wait?" he asked, his temper flaring more blatantly.

Shepherd and the doctor, listening to the back-and-forth, quickly understood why Daryl was being so insistent.

"Ev'ry day ya high-tail it outta here soon as I wake up," she said. "S'clear I annoy ya', and that my talkin' bugs ya. And now I'm tellin' ya to git and you're gonna put up a fight? _Are ya kiddin' me_?"

Daryl scratched his head, unsure what to do. "You got some mouth on you, girl." She was being so frustrating, and it _was_ starting to irritate him. He was beginning to think she was pushing his buttons on purpose.

"That so? I got a mouth on me, huh?" She spat back. "Well, given that we're such 'old friends' 'n all, you probably already knew that, so why ya so surprised? Just…_git_." She waved her hand toward the door.

He stood and paced in a small circle. Beth had crossed her arms and then uncrossed them to point at the door. Daryl made a noise of displeasure and then bullied his way between Shepherd and the doctor, who stood there with their mouths hanging open

"We ain't through," he informed Beth. He was halfway out when she called, "Through? We ain't _started_."

Daryl was so flustered that he blew right by Sasha, who was posted outside of Beth's room.

* * *

><p>"Daryl?" Sasha called after him. He ignored her and stomped down the hall, hung a left, and dived into a bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He had to calm himself down, get his blood back down to below the boiling point. He gripped the edge of the porcelain sink and stared at his haggard, drawn reflection in the mirror. He cursed, and then splashed more water on his face. Not that it was doing much good.<p>

On his way out, he accidentally bumped into one of the cops. He'd seen him around, and in the shoppin' mall of the mind, this one was definitely in the toy department. "Sorry, man," Daryl huffed. The man's hand snapped threateningly to the weapon in his holster. He puffed his chest and started pushing Daryl backwards.

"You're sorry? Yeah? Don't seem so sorry."

Daryl watched as the cop's hand curled around his gun handle. First the epic fail he'd just had trying to talk to Beth, and now this ass-wipe was going to give him shit? Merle's voice chimed in: You_ gonna take that from a pig, little brother? _

"You pull out that piece and one of my _boots_ is gonna find its your way up your _ass_," Daryl sneered. "And that'll be the _least_ of your problems."

The cop pushed his face closer to Daryl's, "Mind yourself, stupid hick," he seethed.

Before the guy knew what hit him, Daryl slammed him up against the wall, his forearm jammed hard across his neck.

Sasha, some of the other police, and several wards heard the ruckus and came running. "Daryl, what the _hell_ is going on?" Sasha demanded, catching her breath.

"Awwww….._nothin_'," Daryl spat, releasing the man. "Asshole thinks I'm a stupid hick, and felt compelled to let me know, as if I weren't already aware. Guess he felt he needed to educate me."

The cop he'd assaulted rubbed his neck and coughed.

"That right, Jones?" One of the other cops asked, her eyebrow quirked.

Jones didn't answer, but looked at Sasha instead. He coughed again. "Keep your rapid guard dog on a leash," he sputtered, and stormed away. When the others had dispersed, Daryl wiped sweat from his brow and said to Sasha, "ain't gotta look at me like that. He started it."

She sighed. "Rick'll be back soon…maybe today, even. Then we can all get outta here." She paused as they walked slowly back toward Beth's room. "I, uh, heard part of the conversation with Beth earlier. Don't take it personally. She's been snapping like that at everyone. She knows we've been lying to her and is convinced Hershel must've died in the car accident, and that's why he hasn't been in to visit. She doesn't know that the truth is much worse."

"She will soon enough," he replied, still breathing hard from his encounter.

* * *

><p>Shepherd and Doc Stephen were gone by the time he and Sasha returned.<p>

"Goin' in," Daryl said. "Keep ever'one out."

Sasha nodded. "Good luck."

"Don't need luck. Think I might need _myself_ a guard dog for protection."

"Daryl Dixon made a joke." She laughed.

"Hmmmm…." He grunted.

He walked through and shut the door firmly behind him. Beth was sitting up in bed, a scowl on the part of her face that was visible around the pristine bandage. "Well?" She said. "I'm here. I'm a captive audience. What you wanna tell me that's so important?"

Daryl pulled the chair to his usual position next to the bed. What he longed to do was just run to her, grab and hug her, the way he'd done when he first saw Carol again. But he knew he wouldn't be able to stop there. He'd want to hold onto her and not let go. Ever.

"At a loss for words, Daryl? Let me start, then." She rubbed the wrist that had been in a cast until a couple of days ago. "Where's my daddy?"

"He's… gone."

"Gone? Gone…where?"

"He's dead, Beth," he said simply. He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, his adrenaline still pumping from the encounter with Jones.

Beth looked unfazed. "Ain't surprised. I kill him in the accident?" He could tell she was trying to speak in a measured tone. Her non-reaction was reminiscent of how she behaved when he told her about Zack, but worse. She was almost…cold.

"Well?"

"Was no accident."

She narrowed her eye. "What're talkin' about? If there was no accident, then…" She crossed her arms.

Daryl figured since she worked out in her mind already that Hershel was probably dead, it wasn't such a shock to hear it said in words. No wonder she didn't cry. "He was...killed by somebody." He watched her closely as he said this. She visibly stiffened; this news, he could tell, she hadn't been expecting. But she still didn't cry.

"W-why? How?"

Daryl puffed out a breath and sagged in the chair. "Fuck, Beth. You have no idea what we've all been through. I gotta tell you some things, and they're gonna be hard to understand…"

"I know you think I'm some kinda dimwitted farm girl, but I think I can understand whatever it is you have to say to me."

He grimaced. This was the same conversation he'd had with Jones just minutes ago, except the shoe was on the other foot. "You ain't dumb. And you're strong. I seen ya take care of yourself plenty of times." He said it almost accusingly.

"You kill my dad or s'thing?" she countered, staring at him. "You his murderer? That why you avoid me? Scared to tell me what ya did?"

"Jesus, Beth, _no_. That the way you think of me?"

"Don't think nothin' at all about you, Daryl." She lifted her chin in defiance.

He swallowed, hard. "I didn't kill your daddy."

"But ya killed other people. That it? That why all these cops here? Why ain't you in jail?" She'd bunched the blankets in her hands.

Daryl snorted. "We've all killed, Beth. Ya' don't get it. The world's different. The dead…they've been comin' back. They…kill folks…bite 'em, turn 'em. They're everywhere. It's a virus, ain't nothin' we can do 'bout it. Happens to us all after we die, even if we ain't been bitten."

She bitterly laughed. "You're gonna tell me a crazy story about _zombies_, now?" She gave him the finger, Daryl noted, just like she did in the woods when she was pissed off.

He roughly grabbed her arm, instantly sorry he hadn't been able to control his temper. He significantly loosened his grip, but he didn't let go. "Listen. _Ain't_ a lie. They come back, can only kill 'em by getting' them in the brain. You been helpin' us deal with them for a long time, now. You and your daddy, and your sister Maggie, too."

She flung her arm from his grasp. "Mama? Shawn?...Jimmy?"

"They're all gone. We…we all lost people." He stopped and looked at the ground. "Almost lost you."

Beth rubbed her eye. "I don't believe ya. Ain't no damn _zombies_."

Daryl stood up and before he knew what he was doing, he'd scooped her up in his arms.

"What the hell you doin'?" She struggled.

"Stop that thrashin' around. Gonna show you." But before he walked out of the room, he took a moment to breathe her in. God, it was good to be close to her. He felt his blood rushing through his veins; he swore he could almost hear it flowing.

Then he shook himself to his senses: _Ya sick fuck, _he admonished. _Fixin' to show the girl how the world's a cesspool of rotting skin eaters and you're standin' here thinkin' about how you wanna just walk out the main doors with her in your arms and never look back. Selfish bastard._

"So, let's go. Show me the scary monsters, _Daryl_," she said sarcastically. He kicked open the door and took a step. She wrapped her arms more tightly around his neck to stabilize herself, and he couldn't stop the deep sigh that escaped his lips. He snuck a glance at Sasha, who was looking on in disbelief but remained silent.

"What's wrong?" Beth asked him. "I heavier 'n I look? What're waitin' for?"

"_Shush, girl_," he commanded, his brain about to explode from her parroting what he'd said when he gave her a piggyback ride in the graveyard. "You ain't gonna like whatcha see."


	6. Must Be a Shock

Beth stood inside the hospital parking garage at the metal gates, listening to the growling and watching the biters snapping their jaws on the other side. Daryl stood right next to her, supporting her lightly by the elbow.

For a long while, neither of them said anything.

Daryl wasn't sure how he'd expected her to react to actually seeing animated corpses, but complete silence wasn't one option he'd considered. He would have preferred that she do something. _Anything._ Curse. Pray. Crumble to the ground. Even beat him with her fists if that's what it took for him to know that he got through to her and that she _got it._

He thought back to when they first fled the prison after the attack. Then he would've been mighty thankful had Beth kept to herself instead of all of that yammering and pushing she did. At the time, it had made him uncomfortable…but it also made him feel alive in ways he didn't know were possible. Before that...before it all...he'd thought the thrill of hunting with his crossbow, getting off with girls he and Merle had picked up in bars, or beating on someone until his knuckles bled made him feel alive.

He was wrong.

His peered down at the small woman beside him, hoping she wouldn't catch him doing so. Unfortunately, she did.

"What?" She snapped.

He shrugged and shook his head. "Nothin'." He dragged his attention away from her and toward the walkers, who were starting to dissipate now that they were figuring out he and Beth weren't viable food sources… at least not at the moment.

He had carried her down to the parking garage much more slowly than was necessary; he figured he could use the opportunity to clue her in without having to deal with the awkwardness of looking at her. Or her looking at him, more like it. He'd done his best to give her the thumbnail version of how he, Rick and the others ended up on Hershel's farm; how they claimed the prison and tried to make a life; and about the Governor's crazy killing spree that had left her daddy dead and gone. And about Maggie...sort of. He left out almost all of the of the details, partly because he didn't want to overwhelm her all at once, and partly because he didn't have the right words to explain what they'd all endured: Like how Rick killed his best friend who, incidentally, fucked his wife; how he shot ol' Dale, point blank; how Carl had to put down his own mama when L'il Asskicker was born; or about his douchebag brother Merle, and how maybe him being mixed up with the Governor ultimately led to her daddy getting his head hacked off. He mentioned that Maggie was alive and had left to find safer territory, but omitted the part about how she'd seemingly given up on Beth.

And he _certainly_ didn't share how when the prison fell the two of them had ended up together, alone.

He tried to steal another look at her while she stood there taking in the gruesome scene, to see if he could read her body language and get some insight as to what was going on in her head. He wondered if she felt the weight of his gaze, because she suddenly muttered, "I ain't gonna cry, if that's what you're waitin' on. I don't cry anymore."

The way she constantly pulled up exact phrases from past conversations between them was becoming more and more maddening to him. It should've made him hopeful, he reckoned, that maybe her memories weren't lost forever, that maybe they were just deeply buried. But what it made him feel was... ashamed. He shuddered when he thought she might remember how he threw her suicide attempt in her face, or how he'd gaped at her like some pining schoolboy moron while they were squirreled away in the funeral home. In fact, the more he thought about his behavior while they were alone together, the more agitated he became.

"Ain't waitin' for ya to cry," he snarled after several minutes. "Just…" he lowered his voice as he clenched his fists, trying to regain control. "Just… wondering what yer thinkin' about all this. Must be a shock."

"Can we go back up now?" She asked, ignoring him.

His blood pressure was shooting up to dangerous levels again. He didn't want to go back up yet. He wanted to shake her in the safety of the dark, to make her scream, make her admit that she was scared shitless. He moved faster than he'd meant to and picked her up, roughly, jostling her more than he needed to just to try to stop himself from really hurting her.

"Stop it!" She commanded. "Put me down!"

He felt the pang of rejection right to his core. _She didn't want him touching her. _

He quickly dropped her to her feet.

"I can do it _myself_." She looked around. "There. Gimme that." She pointed to a broom propped near the garage door. The top of it was covered with layers of blood and gore; it had clearly been used as a weapon to stake some of the biters that ventured too close to the gate.

Daryl ambled over and picked it up, cracking it over his knee to rid it of the brush part, so that she could use it like a walking stick. He started wiping off the top and then thought better of it. He was angry and frankly wanted her to have a visual reminder of the hellish world in wish they now lived.

They plodded along without a word between them for what seemed like an indeterminable amount of time, the _clack-clack-clack_ of the walking stick pushing his buttons further. Then Beth stopped so quickly he almost ran into her.

"Lemme get this straight," she drawled, facing him, her voice devoid of emotion. "The world's become some damn horror movie. Most of my family's been eaten alive. There are maniacal leaders running around, one of them killin' my pa right in front of everyone, me included. Our makeshift home, a prison for fuck's sake, was taken from us. My sister left and is headed to DC." She took a breath. "And somehow I ended up here in a hospital overrun by cops? Needless to say, I think you've left out some important parts."

Daryl took a deep breath. He didn't want to outright lie to her. "Did. S'true. Left out some of 'em."

"So you fixin' to tell me?" She rubbed her one eye, either in exhaustion or frustration, he wasn't sure.

"I…" He took a deep breath. "I letcha get taken, by some of the cops here. They weren't good people, Beth. They took folks- Carol, too-and I… I couldn't keep ya safe."

"I don't understand," she said, her voice strained.

"We found ya, finally," he replied, riled, knowing he wasn't making much sense. "Ya tried to save Noah, and ya got shot by one of the bad cops, their leader. We thought…" he swallowed. "We thought you was dead. But you weren't. Ya survived."

She appeared to consider this for a moment. "Well," she began, slowly. "Booyah for me."


	7. What the Hell Was it All For?

Once they reached the stairwell, Beth had no choice but to let Daryl carry her up the several flights back to her floor. It's not like they had the option of elevators, given that the hospital had to conserve as much energy as possible to keep more important things running.

Daryl gritted his teeth, supposing that he despised carrying her right then as much as she despised being carried. Her body was rigid and foreign in his arms; emotionally they might as well have been in different countries. Instead of finding it within himself to be empathetic, he was so furious at her he could spit nickels. He wasn't even sure why, other than she was refusing to act like a normal human being.

Then a thought crossed his mind that left him sickened: _Maybe that gunshot wound done more than leave 'er with an empty eye socket n' take away her memories. Maybe she just ain't 'right' anymore. Maybe she won't ever be._

_Well, wouldn't that just figure, brother. _Merle's voice intruded. _That there's whatcha call….karma, ain't it? Ya messed with that little tow-headed princess and look whatcha done: Ya brought her down to your level 'stead of the other way 'round. Now she's ruined, too."_

At the top of the stairs Daryl wordlessly set her back on her feet. She propped herself up with the broomstick she'd manage to drag up with them.

He walked away from her with cat-like quickness. Behind him, the _clack-clack-clacking_ sound of the stick pinched at his insides. He picked up the pace to put even more space between them.

"Go ahead, run away again, Daryl." Beth called out. "Ya keep worryin' 'bout _yerself _and how it's so _painful_ for YOU to tell ME the truth. I mean the _whole_ truth. Wouldn't want it to be uncomfortable for ya or nothin'."

He froze.

"That's right," she said with feigned sweetness. "The truth. For instance… why YOU, huh? Why YOU the one that's supposed ta fill me in on what's happened to me? Why not Sasha? She seems competent. Or Noah? He and I were stuck here at the hospital together, right?" She steamrolled on. "Why not Rick when he gets back? He's the leader, ain't he? Or Carol? SHE seems to care 'bout me."

He remained cemented in place.

"After all," she said, her tone growing sarcastic. "Carol said we were _ALL_ 'old friends.' Didja just draw the unlucky short straw? Or is there somethin' more to it? Huh? 'Cause someone who can barely speak beyond grunts sure wouldn't be MY first choice."

The space between them tunneled away as Daryl felt himself barreling back toward her, knowing he was on the verge of making a big mistake, yet not being able to stop himself. "Ya DUMB BITCH," he yelled. "You were FREE. We SAVED ya." He paced in a frantic circle trying unsuccessfully to rein himself in, while she stood by with both hands clasped to the blood-smattered broom handle, her jaw clenched.

"The _HELL_," he'd continued, moving right up to her, so close that he could feel her uneven breath ghost across his lips. He shoved an accusing finger at her. "Ya ruined EVERYTHING. Ya tried ta take out an armed cop with a pair of _Barbie doll scissors._" His chest was heaving and his lungs felt heavy, as if unable to work properly. "Ya learned NOTHIN', _NOTHIN'_ I tried to teach ya when we was together!" He added.

He was visibly shaking, as was she, now. But she held her tongue.

"What the _hell_ was it all _FOR_?" He spun around and nearly lost his balance. He needed to get far away from her, and fast…far away from her and, more importantly, away from the whispers in his ear to slap her… or…or…he cursed himself..._to take a fuckin' belt to her._

Goddamn it, he wished Rick was back.

* * *

><p>When I started writing this, I didn't quite know it would end up this way. I know it's short, but I needed it to be like a one-two punch: quick, and then over. And even though it is painful, it seems realistic that Daryl would have to struggle with his demons. I hope that you'll stick with the story to see where it goes, despite uncomfortable chapters along the way... And thanks again for reading!<p> 


	8. Good Reasons

Daryl veered off to the cafeteria. He wasn't the least bit hungry, but he wasn't sure where else to go. He certainly wasn't going anywhere near Beth; no way, no _how_. And the last thing he needed was to roam around and accidentally run into Officer Jackass Jones in some dark hallway again. At least if they crossed paths in the cafeteria, there would be plenty of eyes to back up Daryl's story that he beat the guy to a pulp only because he was being provoked. He was pretty sure a stealth look of just the right kind would easily get the douche to get all up in his grill. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he half-wished the loser would come through the doors right then so that he could feel the satisfying crack of knuckles against bone.

He headed toward a table in the far corner and scraped the floor more loudly than he would've preferred while pulling out a chair. Pairs of eyes swung in his direction, and there was a hushed moment before quiet chatter started up again. He stretched out his body and rested an arm around the back of the chair next to him. Losing control made him feel empty and undone, and the idea that he could even _think_ of hurting Beth terrified him. He didn't understand how he could want to protect her so bad and want to hurt her at the same. It didn't make any sense...

_Don'tcha fret, Darlene. Ain't that academic. Ya stupidly thought ya had that temper o' yours in check, just 'cause ya hadn't let it loose in a while. But big brother's here to tell ya to stop fooling yerself. Let's get one thing straight: You're a __**Dixon**__, ya feel me?_ _Our patience levels are ALWAYS pointin' at "E" for empty, little buddy._

It was crazy how often he imagined Merle's reactions to things, but the truth is, it was one way for him to keep the bastard alive. And right now, he felt incredibly alone. Merle's taunting ghost was better than nothin' at all.

For a moment he thought he actually heard Merle's deep, belly laugh. He turned to see that it had been one of the cops: the tall, blonde one that he'd seen Noah talking with a bunch of times. The cop's attention was zeroed in on a shapely brunette wearing an apron over her scrubs. He suspected she was one of the 'wards' Dawn was going on about, paying back what she 'owed' by working as a lunch lady. _Or worse._

His felt the need to avert his eyes, and they drifted to the wall beside him. He was instantly sorry. On it hung a piece of motivational poster bullshit with what looked like a hellhound nuzzling a fluffy orange-striped kitten. It said in big yellow block letters, "Do What is Right, Not What is Easy." He groaned and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. _Jesus H. Christ._ On a less volatile day, he might've even laughed.

"Hey, cowboy."

He looked up. The ponytailed brunette woman was suddenly standing over him, one hand on her hip, the other holding a blue laminate plate with three thick slices of bread glistening with slathered butter.

She slid the plate on the table in front of him. "Noah said you like white bread." She ticked off one finger. "You came back to rescue your people." She ticked off a second. "Annnnd, Dawn was a bitch extraordinaire who deserved to be taken out." She ticked off a third and shrugged. "What can I say? It's a trifecta. You have simple tastes, are loyal and can handle your weapon. Works for me."

She turned and padded away, almost gracefully, in her little blue sneakers. _What the FUCK was that?!_ He shook his head, wondering if this day could get any worse. He tried to resist eating the bread because he didn't want to give the woman the satisfaction, but…damn, he wanted to feel normal, just for one second, and for some reason eating bread seemed like something someone "normal" might do. He picked up one of the slices and studied it. It soon found its way to his mouth.

He heard the shuffle of sneakers come up beside him again. She was back, but this time she plopped down a set of folded scrubs on the table. "Rumor has it you had a hard day."

_What'd she mean by that? _He ducked his head._ Was she talking about the encounter with Jones? Beth? Both? Jesus, this place was like a damn old folks home with all the gossiping. _

She set a little bottle of soap next to the clean clothes. "The HELL?" he said finally, looking upward through his bangs. "Ya purposely trying to drive me to lose my goddamn shit?"

Her reaction was to laugh. "Hell, no. I'm trying to thank you, and it's not like I have much else to, um, reward you with." She gave a little wink and Daryl swore she gave him the once over, though what kind of dumb-ass broad would be doing that? Here? Now? With all that was going on?

He made a snide little "pfft" noise. _Christ_. Nobody was acting the way they should. The whole world had already gone to hell in a hand basket; now everyone was going bat-shit insane along with it.

"Look it," the brunette said, in a more serious tone. "Least I can do is feed you and maybe launder those grimy clothes…though it looks like they've never seen the inside of a washing machine, so you, ah, might not be into that." She reached out as if to touch them, and Daryl scooted his chair away…not that she appeared to notice. Cocking her head in the direction of the main cafeteria doors, she said, "There's a staff break room right down the hall. Got full bathrooms, place to stretch out. Have yourself a nice shower. Put on the scrubs. They look stupid as all get-out, but they're comfortable. Just leave your clothes and I'll come in and get them, have them washed and returned in two shakes."

He sniffed. "Ain't leavin' my clothes _nowhere_."

She rolled her eyes. "Modesty doesn't become you. Fine. I'll knock twice before I come in to get 'em. That work for you, sir?"

* * *

><p>He was loath to admit it but, hot-damn, the shower felt good. He didn't want to use up too much of their supply, so he kept it short and sweet. He'd even used the soap. It had a tangy citrusy smell that made him feel more human on the outside; unfortunately, it did nothing to make him feel less contaminated on the inside. He doubted anything could after what he'd wanted to do to Beth in that fit of anger.<p>

He dried himself off with a towel that had been hanging on a hook outside of the shower and put on the scrubs. He glanced at himself in the mirror above the sink. They _were_ stupid-looking. At the same time, they were loose and soft like pajamas and as dumb as it was, wearing them made him feel instantly sleepy.

He sat down on the cot in the corner, his fingertips testing the springs. _Maybe I'll just close my eyes for a minute. _His mud- and gut-caked clothes were in a heap on the floor beside the cot…except, of course, for his leather vest, which he'd slung neatly over a chair. He grasped the hilt of his knife and tucked it under the pillow as he lay down. _Just for a minute, _he repeated to himself.

* * *

><p>Bang, bang, bang!<p>

_Beth, run!_

Bang, bang, bang!

_Run! Grab your shit! I'll meet you up by the road!"_

"Daryl! Daryl?"

He bolted upright, his knife at the ready.

"Dude, you still in there?" The knocking continued. "Rick's back!" It was Noah's voice. Christ, how long had he been sleeping? His eyes went to where he'd left his clothes but they weren't there. Instead, they were in a neat little pile on the table near where his vest rested on the chair back.

"Goddamn it," he spluttered as he stood and reached for them. "Be out in a second," he huffed, shaking off the scrubs and stuffing his legs in his jeans, nearly falling over in the process. _Thank fuck, Rick's back. _He could already feel a tiny bit of the weight lifting from him. He'd screwed up, yes... but he'd done that before with Beth and she'd forgiven him. He shook away the images that were seared in his mind -like him grabbing her and forcing her to try the crossbow- and instead focused on the sensation of her holding him up, supporting him from behind while she murmured to him that it would be OK.

It didn't take him but a minute to fully dress. After, he pushed open the door and saw Noah leaning against the wall, talking to the woman who'd given him bread, the blonde cop and some other guy probably in his 50s in the same ridiculous-looking scrubs he'd just shed. The older guy had a room not far from Beth's, and Daryl'd seen him peeking out every now and then.

The four of them were staring. "Aw, stop it," Daryl responded. "Actin' like you ain't never seen someone clean 'fore."

"It's not that," Noah said. "Just that we'd never seen YOU clean."

Daryl looked at him sideways. The kid was really starting to get way too bold around him.

"Obliged," he mumbled to the woman, motioning toward his freshly laundered shirt and jeans.

"Don't mention it," she replied. It seemed genuine, though it still pissed him off that she slipped into the room without him even knowing it. He was getting sloppy and complacent.

Noah motioned for Daryl to follow him down the hallway, leaving the others behind. "Don't give them a hard time," Noah said softly as they walked. "They're good folks."

"Blondie really a cop?" Daryl asked, a standard question once he discovered Sheperd had in reality been an emergency medical tech before the turn.

"Nope. He was a host for a local sport radio show. Sorta a minor celebrity."

"No shit?" Daryl remarked, amused. "What about the girl?"

"Rose? You don't want to know."

"Do," Daryl replied.

"You, um, ever heard of Club Climax?"

"Ya mean the _nudie bar_?"

Noah nodded. "Why am I not surprised that you've heard of it?"

Daryl raised an eyebrow. He knew it all too well. Merle had dragged him there countless sweltering summer nights to give away dollar bills they didn't really have to give. But there was air conditioning and cheap beer, and watching the girls slide up and down shiny poles kept him and Merle out of trouble for the most part. Daryl never fought Merle taking him with him, in any event.

"So...she was...a..._waitress_?" Daryl asked incredulously. He could tell Noah caught on to his little euphemism for "stripper."

"I think the preferred title is 'exotic dancer.'"

Daryl's mind flashed back to the grin she'd given. That talk about rewarding him. Calling him "cowboy." He cleared his throat, feeling guilty for letting his mind wander "there" even for a second. "What about the other guy?"

"You don't wanna know that, either."

"Why? He a stripper- _exotic dancer,_ I mean -too?"

"You _really_ won't like it..." Noah said, shaking his head.

"What? He a tax collector? Or sell jeans at the GAP or s'thing?"

"He's a comedian."

Daryl groaned. "Keep that one far away from me, if ya know what's good for him. So..." he said, changing to subject back to what he really wanted to know. "When Rick get back?"

"Bout 20 minutes ago or so. He was still talking to Beth when I left to track you down. Generally you wanna know where someone is, you go straight to Rose. She seems to have an uncanny knack for keeping tabs on people's whereabouts, most of the time without them even knowing it." _Don't__ I know it_, he remarked to himself.

What...was...what was he talkin' to Beth about?" Daryl kept his gaze straight ahead as he asked.

"Nothing," Noah replied, slowly. "I mean...everything. Beth was explaining to him and Carol how you finally told her what was going on. How you showed her the walkers." He put his hands in his pockets as they continued striding down the hall. "Rick said it took them a little longer than they expected, but they finally found a good place to stay about an hour north, closer to DC, anyways. They came across a van with gas and the others are already up there, setting up."

"Anythin' else?" he asked suspiciously. With Noah being so talkative and friendly to him, he must've left before Beth shared with Rick what a royal dick-wad he'd been to her.

"Oh, and…" Noah started...

_Here it comes…._he thought, sucking in a breath. Maybe the kid had just been too afraid to bring it up at first, distracting him with stories of strippers and such so that he wouldn't have to deal with the scary backwoods guy flying off the handle. But he was wrong, and what Noah_ did_ say was completely unexpected.

"So, get this: Doc Stephen has kept a calendar all this time. Force of habit, I guess. Turns out Beth's birthday is next week. She said it didn't rightly matter that she's turning 19 considering she can't remember anything about 17 and 18."

Hearing that made Daryl's gut twist a shade. The Beth he knew would've wanted to have some tea party or shit, even if it had been just the two of them and that damn mangy dog. She woulda gone on and on about how it was beautiful...and he woulda rolled his eyes but secretly agreed, but only because SHE was beautiful.

Daryl's face flushed with the memory that some tiny, farm-spun girl had been able to show bad-ass Daryl a thing or two. She'd made him see there were still reasons to get up every morning and face whatever shit the day shoveled you. And not just any old reasons. GOOD reasons.


	9. Forgot S'thing

When Daryl saw Rick and Carol at Beth's bedside, he was so flooded with relief that he could feel some of the tension instantly melt from his shoulders. But then Rick gave him a pointed look and his stomach gave a little lurch. As he walked through the doorframe, he half expected the ex-sheriff to drag him aside and, in his quietly menacing voice, thoroughly reprimand him for his despicable ways. He also was prepared for Carol to cast him pitying "it all makes sense" looks, given that she'd seen him stash the abuse survivor book. Inside, he cringed with embarrassment knowing she'd seen it. He was pretty certain she hadn't come to the conclusion that he'd picked it up for some light reading.

But, Rick _didn't_ pull him aside. And when Carol looked at him, it was only with warmth.

"Daryl," Rick said with emotion. He placed a palm on Daryl's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Carol rose and gave him a quick hug. He'd stiffened at these touches, but not so much, he reckoned. There'd been a time when he wouldn't have tolerated these kinds of physical intimacies at all. Though they still elicited uneasiness, at least his first reaction wasn't to back up and bare his teeth like an injured mutt.

He threw a questioning look at Beth and wondered why she hadn't yet ratted him out. She would've been completely justified in doing so, and even if she actually took pleasure in shining a spotlight on how crass and horrible he was, he wasn't fixing to hold it against her.

But she was just stared dully off into the distance.

"Beth here says you told her e'vrything. Now, we know it's a lot for her to take in. The walkers… the struggles..." He scratched his beard. "I know from personal experience, it's downright traumatizin', if you can even begin to believe it's true and you're not just havin' a whooper of a nightmare." Daryl guessed he wasn't only referencing how he'd come out of a coma to learn the world had been over-run by stinking corpses; he probably was having a mental montage of every wretched thing he's had to do to survive…to ensure that _his people_ survived.

"But," he continued, "she'll be OK. She's strong." He bent down to give her a light kiss on the top of her head. "Ain't that right, Bethy?" Daryl flinched. In that moment, Rick had channeled Hershel to a T, and he was pretty sure it hadn't been done consciously.

"It'll be fine," she added, her voice flat. "Otherwise, what's it all FOR?"

Beth mimicking Daryl's words didn't anger him this time; in sharp contrast, they were sobering. She'd delivered them in such a self-defeated, detached way it rapidly threw the situation into 3-D relief. He'd taken his fear, hurt and disappointment out on the girl. He wasn't a scholar, but he knew what it meant to blame the victim.

Daryl ran a hand over his face and his eyes slid to Carol. He suddenly recalled how he'd similarly lashed out at her in the barn when they'd been talking about Sophia. She'd been trying to show him empathy and kindness, even though she was the one whose daughter was missing. Daryl, not having any experience with healthy relationships, crudely misinterpreted her attempts at compassion and felt insulted. And put simply, you don't insult a Dixon and get away with it.

_Jesus. I'm still the same shit-head I've always been._

Merle snickered. _Little brother, meet self-awareness. Self-awareness, this here's little brother."_

_Asshole. _Daryl bit his lip, afraid for a second he'd almost uttered it aloud.

* * *

><p>"I think we're ready," Rick said, referring to the packed police cars. He'd struck a deal with the two cops who'd assumed leadership roles after Dawn was killed. Luckily, they seemed to want to make amends for some of the pain and suffering Dawn had caused. They offered three of the cars, gas, and supplies. Daryl had been in on the negotiations, and found them to be going relatively well until Rick brought up that some of their folk had taken him up on the offer hightail it out of there.<p>

"Now," Rick began when he saw them bristle. "I'm not forcin' them to come with us. This is their decision, their right. You have any beef with that, well I'm sorry… but that's the way it's gotta be. I'm not gonna refuse anyone who wants to take a chance with us." Along with Shepherd, Rose, Blondie, another one of the cops who turned out to be an ex-electrician and a ward named Willow wanted to join their rag-tag group. Secretly, Daryl wondered at first whether Willow, given her name and lanky legs, had been a "colleague" of Rose's in the old world. Turns out she'd been an accountant who'd been crossing the street at the wrong time. Her arm was still in a cast from the "unfortunate encounter " with Gorman's cop car.

Before heading into negotiations, Sasha, Rick, Daryl, Carol and Noah had discussed the possible new additions. Noah had vouched for them, and Rick said that was good enough for him. Daryl had surprised them by grunting agreement. While the kid annoyed the crap out of him, he trusted him. He saw how he was around Beth. Didn't have a mean bone in his body, and even enough spunk to speak plainly to intimidating bastards like himself. In the end, it was hard to find fault with him.

At the present, Daryl's crossbow was slung non-threateningly over his shoulder as Rick worked out final details. He stood in a corner, observing. In his waistband, within easy reach, was a loaded gun. He didn't expect to have to use it, but he didn't want to be caught off-guard, either. His realization earlier about how he'd gotten sloppy and complacent plagued him.

After some back and forth, the leaders conceded and Rick announced, "We're done here, then." He even extended a hand. One of the police tentatively reached out and shook it. "Shame about the girl," he said, referring to Beth.

"She'll be all right," Daryl interjected defensively. It was the only thing he'd said the whole meeting.

* * *

><p>Rick, Shepard, The Electrician and Willow got into one car, with Rick at the wheel. Sasha and Noah were positioned in the front seat of the second car, while Rose and Blondie slid in the back. Carol climbed into the passenger seat of the last car, with Beth occupying the backseat alone so she would have room to lie down if needed. Exhaustion already weighed down the girl's features. Daryl opened the driver-side door, paused, and then closed it. "Forgot s'thing," he said to Carol. "Be right back."<p>

Carol looked at him quizzically but asked no questions. Daryl strode up to Rick's window and leaned down to tell him something. Rick nodded and Daryl went back inside.

He came out about ten minutes later with a duffle over his shoulder. Wordlessly, he shuffled things around in the trunk so it would fit snug in the rear, with nothing on top of it. He clicked open the car door and slipped behind the wheel. He looked in the rearview mirror. Beth was already prone on the seat, breathing rhythmically in sleep.

"Let's get this show on the road," Carol said, handing him the keys.


	10. Nothin' Happened

They spent the first 20 minutes in silence. Shepherd had given Beth something to help her sleep, figuring it would make the car ride easier. It appeared to be working, because she hadn't stirred once since they'd left. Daryl had been anxiously checking the rearview mirror every couple of minutes; he tried to control it but he just couldn't stop himself. His actions, he noticed, weren't lost on Carol. She seemed to be anxiously checking on him at about the same rate.

Finally, she spoke. "Before we left I talked to Doc Stephen about Beth."

He shifted uncomfortably in the seat. "Yeah?"

"Have you noticed how she sometimes says things...and it's kinda like... I don't know... like a scene ripped from the timeframe she can't remember?"

Daryl knew exactly what she was talking about, but instead said, "How ya mean?"

"Well, like this… while you were packing up the cars, she started talking to me about how she'd been thinking a lot about Maggie, and hoping that she'd found someone in DC to keep her safe, make her laugh. It was pretty obvious you hadn't told her about Glenn. But she was going on about the kind of guy who would be perfect for her, and I swear to God she described Glenn exactly."

"Coincidence," he muttered.

"Maybe," she replied. "But then she asked about kids. Said you hadn't mentioned any, and she wanted to know how it is that they could possibly survive the way things are." Carol lowered her voice even more. "She seemed so…sad. I asked her what she was thinking, and she said, 'if I hadn't ruined everything, maybe one day I woulda had a baby. Judy woulda been a nice name.' I told her that she already knew a baby named Judy. She seemed confused but not entirely surprised."

_Ruined everything_. He knew where she'd gotten a notion like that. He turned around quickly to take her in. Her cheek was flush with sweat, and he had a sudden urge to reach back and run his fingers along her jawline, tucking the stray strands of hair out of the way.

_I see ya got a little Doc Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thang goin'on there, little brother. One minute ya wanna caress that smooth, baby-soft skin and the next ya wanna slap her to the backside of nowhere. How d'ya decide? You flip a quarter?"_

He gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles started to ache.

"Stephen believes her memory's returning. Says she's got what's called retrograde amnesia. Means you lost memories from before. He said as people get better, the memories can return. But not like you'd think. They tend to come back like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Little bits at a time, and in random order."

Daryl knew right then and there he truly was _not_ a good person, because the first thought that came to his mind was, 'what if she remembers everything we went through together... and she still doesn't want anything to do with me?' He used to think Merle was self-absorbed. Well, he just put his brother to shame.

"Daryl…"

He made a little sound of frustration. "Don't know whatcha want me to say. Hope she remembers. Make things a lot easier…" his voice trailed off. "I mean, for when we meet up with Maggie. Not winnin' any awards for my story-telling capabilities. Didn't do such a bang-up job of filling her in."

Carol sighed. "So I hear."

"Meaning…"

"Rose told me you got a little heated while you were talking to Beth."

Daryl banged the steering wheel with his hand, forgetting for a moment to be quiet. He checked to make sure Beth hadn't awakened and then he mumbled, "Goddamn, that woman needs to mind her own business!"

"Daryl," Carol said calmly in response.

"What you want from me, _huh_?" He heard his voice break. "Didn't mean it. Don't intentionally wanna hurt her. I tried to keep her safe. I tried…"

"I know," she replied. She turned to look out the window.

His mind started to race. He needed to talk about it. _About it all_. Carol was right there. She cared about him, he knew. Maybe she could even help. But he just couldn't make the words come out.

After a while she said softly, "sometimes I think the person you hurt the most is you."

Something brittle hidden inside of him snapped, and before he could stop it, the words "I'm no good for her" tumbled from his lips. He hadn't meant to say it. It felt like a bald admission, like he might as well have told Carol that he wanted to drop on one knee and ask for Beth's hand in marriage. He was instantly, intensely mortified. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Carol opened her mouth as if to respond, then appeared to think better of it.

Daryl felt trapped. "Need to pull over. Take a leak." It was a lie, but he couldn't bare to be next to Carol after what he'd just said. Deftly he slid the car to the side of the road. They both got out and scanned the area. There didn't appear to be any walkers around. They watched the other two cars pull off a little ways ahead, clearly wanting to make sure they were ok. Carol gave a little wave.

"You don't have to tell me," she started slowly. "But I know you. Whatever happened between you two while you were trying to survive together… well, it's not wrong, Daryl."

"_Nothin'_ happened." He was annoyed that his voice sounded full of regret.

_Well, whose fault is that, Darlene? You wanna make it seem all romantic in your head…beauty this, beauty that, yada yada yada. But you know as well as I do that the moment that little vixen called ya 'Mr. Dixon' that you wanted to put her over your knee and spank her pretty little ass. And then do all sorts of other unspeakable things to it."_

Daryl opened the car door and got back in. Carol followed suit. He wished he hadn't conjured up the "Mr. Dixon" incident, because when it happened it took all his restraint not to do exactly what Imaginary Merle had accused him of wanting to do. Beth assumed he'd flown off the handle because he was drunk. He'd let her think that because the truth was far worse: He was furious with himself for getting the most raging hard-on of his life when that innocent little girl called him 'Mr. Dixon' not once, but twice.

_Your mood swings are giving me whiplash, Darlene. Ya gotta pick a story and stick with it. She your Madonna or your whore?_

He stomped his foot on the gas so hard that the tires squealed on the way out.

"Nothin' happened," he repeated.


	11. We're Good

The caravan slowed as the vehicles turned onto a small, curvy avenue flanked by massive white oaks. As they traveled further up, the grade steepened, and the road eventually narrowed to a single lane. With all the twisting and turning, Beth woke, rubbed her eye and stared listlessly out the window. Carol had tried to engage her in conversation, but after a few minutes gave up. Daryl didn't try at all. He was too busy still warring with himself inside. There were too many shades of gray; too many feelings competing for dominance. They were all jumbled together and he felt wholly incapable of sorting them out.

_I want to protect Beth. * I want to hurt her. * I want to keep her to myself. * I want to be as far away from her as possible. * I want her to stay pure. * I want to throw her up against a wall and fuck her senseless. * She's a little girl. * She's a woman. *I can walk away whenever I want. *I can't…I can't… I can't…_

He was utterly and completely lost.

"You OK?" Carol asked him. He'd been so deep in thought that he hadn't realized that the cars, including his own, had stopped.

"What is this place?" He asked, his eyes trailing along the elegant stack-stoned wall that snaked around the property.

"Check it out," she said, pointing to a small sign discretely displayed on an imposing wooden gate.

He squinted. "Buckingham Girls Preparatory School." He gave a derisive snort. "_Seriously_?"

Carol gave a little laugh. "Thought you might like it."

"Or...s'thing," Daryl responded. He cranked his neck to look past the stone wall. In the distance, he could see the outlines of a building that looked like a fancy French chateau right outta some boring artsy film with subtitles and shit.

"How'd you find this place?"

"Rose."

Daryl inwardly groaned. Noah hadn't been kidding; the woman had her paw in every pot.

"She'd told Noah about it; Noah told Rick. She'd heard that it had been completely evacuated early on and suspected it would be pretty free of walkers. She was right. And it's far enough off the main road…nothin' around for miles. Being on a hill, gives us a good vantage point for keeping watch. Rick seems pretty pleased."

There were a few walkers milling around the gate, probably lured there by the activity of the others who were already encamped. "I got this," he said, opening the car door. He joined Rick at the gate and stuck his knife methodically in the rotters' brains, as if on an assembly line. Rick opened the gate and motioned Sasha to drive through. Daryl walked back to his car and watched as Beth gaped at him wide-eyed while he wiped his knife clean on his jeans.

"It always like that?" she asked.

"It's almost boring," he half-joked.

Carol turned to her. "It's something we've all learned to do."

"Did I…?"

Carol nodded.

"With a knife?" She examined her hands, as if imagining what they would look like wrapped around a blade handle.

Carol responded matter-of-factly, "Whatever was available: Knife, gun, axe, hammer…"

"Crossbow," Daryl added quietly.

Carol shot him a surprised look.

"Don't think I could do that now," she said in a small voice. "I'm useless."

"Ain't _useless_," Daryl replied in a hushed tone. "You're..." He struggled to find something else to add, but he couldn't conjure up anything that didn't sound stupid to him. So he kept he mouth shut.

* * *

><p>Daryl stood on the front porch, surveying the acres of overgrown grass and shrubs. He could just imagine how manicured and proper it had once been. It wasn't hard to picture little girls in plaid skirts and pearls dotting the lawn, their badminton rackets resting lightly on their shoulders as they giggled their way from class to class. He imagined he'd feel more comfortable sleeping in the back of one of the cop cars than he would here, a place where rich parents used to dump their bratty kids so they wouldn't have to deal with 'em...at least not 'til their winter ski holidays rolled around.<p>

Rick sat on the steps, bouncing L'il Asskicker on his knee. "S'good place to stay for a while." The baby twisted and fussed till he bounced her faster. "We'll re-group. Let Beth heal. Get us in fightin' form. When we go to DC, we'll be strong."

"Yeah," Daryl said half-heartedly.

He cleared his throat. "Before we can leave, Beth needs to be gettin' around much better'n she is. Maybe learn how to handle a knife again. She needs to be able to protect herself."

Daryl stared at his boots. "I reckon."

"Carol says her memory's returning. Talked to Shepherd. She agrees." Judith gave a tiny squeal and lifted her arms up.

Daryl reached down and pulled the child into his arms. "Um hmmm."

"I was hoping Judy would help. Beth's held her a few times, but I don't think anything's clicked yet."

"L'il Asskicker's a powerful weapon. She'll get through to her." He was always amazed at how it felt like his blood pressure dropped and his breathing steadied when he gathered the baby in his arms. "Good luck charm." Judith grabbed his nose and twisted.

Rick squinted, looking into the distance, then shifted around on the step. "Don't mean to pry," he started.

"Christ, Rick, you, too?" Daryl asked, exasperated.

"You're family. You're all my family. The ones who've been there since the start. The ones still alive."

Daryl handed the baby back and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He knew Rick appreciated and trusted Sasha and Tyreese, but when he said "family" he was referring specifically to Carol, Glenn, Maggie, Beth and him. Michonne, too, who Daryl knew held a special place for the way she drew out Carl.

"Look. I know you haven't had an easy time of it in life, even as a kid," he kissed Judith on the head. "And none of us certainly has it easy now. We've been through hell and back, each and every one of us. But I can't sit back and watch you tear yourself apart, hurtin' Beth in the process."

Daryl kicked at the porch railing. _Fucking Rose._

"Now… just listen for a second, don't get all riled. I'm not trying' to give you advice, and I'm not judgin', either. It's no secret I made - _make_ - my share of mistakes. I screwed up with Lori, bad, and it haunts me. Sometimes I see her face in Carl or Judith's and I can't hardly stand the guilt."

Guilt was a language he was fluent in.

"I won't pretend to know what you and Beth went through. But I suspect it wasn't all bad." He rubbed his beard. "And that's a _good_ thing, Daryl. It's the _only_ thing. And if there was good, you gotta try to help Beth remember. She's not in safe place now, emotionally."

Daryl leaned against the railing, his eyes fixed on the trees beyond the stone wall. _Yeah, no doubt thanks to me and my big mouth, _he pointed out to himself.

"Just…you gotta_ trust_ yourself more. You're a good man. You gotta learn not to listen to those voices in your head. They're wrong. You start believin' them, it'll break you."

Daryl's gaze snapped to him. _How did he know?_

Rick responded as if he'd actually heard the question. "Oh, I know all about the voices, Daryl. It's hard to shut 'em up. They're so dang loud at times it's downright deafening." He shifted Judith to his other knee. "Please, though…I'm asking...for her sake and your own….don't give up on that girl, or she'll give up on herself."

For a while, all that could be heard was Judith's babbling. Then they heard the growl of a solitary walker beyond the fence. Even it sounded weary. Eventually, Rick spoke: "That's all I have to say for now. We good?"

Daryl gave a barely perceptible nod. "Yeah…" he grumbled. "We're good."


	12. Insightful Bastard

The school was in pretty good shape, considering. Although it was in a state of disrepair, it had escaped being raided and there were useful things at every turn: canned goods, tools, flashlights, candles and all the neon highlighter makers, colorful construction paper and lip gloss one could wish for.

The Electrician, whom Daryl discovered was named Jack, immediately got to work on the basement generator with Blondie, who in addition to being ON the radio apparently had a knack for building them, so they figured together they would be one hell of a team. Rick, Noah, Tyreese and Michonne took to fortifying the school and grounds, reinforcing the entry gate and setting up poles where wayward walkers would self-impale. Sasha and Carol were on lookout from two of the building's turrets. Willow, as best she could with her casted arm, joined Gabriel to organize supplies and food. And Shepherd and Rose were determined to rid the dorm rooms of boy band posters and make any other adjustments they deemed necessary in order to make them habitable. For the next couple of days, they were a busy, productive group feeling the highs of making something their own and of not just surviving, but thriving.

And Daryl…Daryl did what he did best. He slung his crossbow over his shoulder and headed toward the woods each day, the familiar setting calming his mind. The first day, he'd bagged a rabbit and 2 squirrels; the second, three squirrels and a bobwhite quail. Today he was hankering to get the deer he'd been tracking since the first day. He could tell he was getting closer, and victory felt imminent. It felt good. Moreover, he hadn't seen one walker the whole time. Maybe they really hit on a good place this time.

He stopped at a stream and knelt down to wash his face and neck, the soothing coolness quelling his nerves even more. As he focused his attention on the gently swirling water, he sensed the taut coils in his gut unwinding. Thinking back, he could now see how, starting with Beth being taken, he'd become more and more tightly wound. Each horrific, unspeakable event had built on the preceding one: Joe and his gang of marauding, raping dicks; Terminus, which was as far from sanctuary as one could get; the spray of the cannibals' blood as it coated the inside of the church…culminating with Beth's near-demise. He hadn't realized until now how much it all had robbed him of his ability to take even a single deep breath. And now in the safety and comfort of the old oaks and gurgling creeks, he could. It reminded him of how, growing up, he and Merle felt safe only in the forest, far away from their drunk-ass father, nosy teachers and tut-tutting local churchgoers.

He really _did_ miss his brother. There's no denying that Merle had been a bully, a womanizer and an occasional guest of the local jail for his sport of choice, bar fighting. He coveted his highs from crystal meth, preferred to try to make money from cards rather than an honest day's work, and treasured his chopper like a goddess. And he loved his little brother.

Just then, something occurred to Daryl that hadn't crossed his mind before: Merle had never had a problem verbalizing his love for him throughout his life. He, on the other hand, couldn't seem to _ever_ say the words, and aside from maybe telling his mom when he was little, never uttered them, not even back to his brother. But it didn't stop there. He'd always felt uncomfortable trying to even interpret what other people were feeling, aside from anger. He was just plain bad at it. Merle had called him out on it once, when he was around 19 or 20. They'd been drinking and shooting cans, and Merle had been going on about this girl he'd been boning, claiming her younger cousin wanted to be all up in Daryl's junk. Daryl didn't believe him, thought he was just taunting and making fun of him by suggesting that she was really interested. Merle insisted it was true, and called him a dumbfuck moron for not being able to see it, saying it was as obvious as water is wet. Merle just shook he head, and said something like, "I'm an ass, but you're as emotionally stunted as they come, little buddy. Still love ya, though." Go figure, Daryl thought. Merle was an insightful bastard after all.

* * *

><p>Daryl sauntered across the yard, an actual smile on his face, his conquest draped around his neck. Carl, who had been sitting on the porch with Judith and Beth, came bounding down the stairs to meet him.<p>

"That's fucking awesome," the kid said.

"Language," Daryl said in mock sternness, giving him an intentional shoulder bump. "How 'bout some help stringin' 'er up so I can dress 'er."

Daryl instructed Carl to loop rope around the deer's Achilles and soon it was dangling from a branch, ready for him to gut. He peered up at the porch, where he saw Beth rising from her chair, as if to get a better look. Carl's eyes trailed his. "I'm gonna go back with her and Judy now," he announced, taking a step to head back toward the school.

"Hey, wait," Daryl said, stopping him in his tracks.

"Yeah?"

"Just wondering', I guess...How d'ya think she's doin'?" He motioned his head toward Beth. This was not a throwaway question. The kid had been through heinous experiences and he was beyond beating around the bush. From Carl, he'd get the truth without any adult-like dancing around.

"I told her how Judy's first smile had been for her."

Daryl's chest constricted a little at that, knowing it was actually true. "She react?"

"Not really. I mean, she did, but it was forced. She's so fucking sad, all the time. I mean, I get it…" his voice trailed off.

They both stood there for an awkward few minutes, Daryl not sure where to look and Carl kicking the ground. Daryl was getting the sense that there was something unspoken hanging in the air.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Your dad…" he said, pausing to consider whether he really wanted to know the answer. "He… say anything to you?"

Carl tilted his head to peer through his chocolate bangs. "Yeah."

"What?"

"He'll probably kill me if I tell you."

Carl's unwavering gaze was making him nervous, but now he really wanted to know what Rick had said. "Huh. Seem to recall him tellin' ya not to do something never stopped ya before."

Carl rubbed the back of his neck, as if trying to decide what to do. He kicked at the ground again, then sighed."Ok. Guess you can handle it."

Daryl wasn't sure if the kid was being sassy or if he meant it. He looked at him expectantly.

"He said…you're in love with Beth, and you don't even really know it yet. Said we have to help you 'cause of that as much as we have to help her 'cause of her injury."


	13. Ya Sang for Us

As a consequence of the deer he bagged, there was a damn campfire party in full swing around him. He half-expected someone to break out a guitar and start singing _Blowin' in the Wind._ As much as that would rankle him, part of him wished someone would, because if the doctor was on target the music might help Beth.

Perched on a rock at the periphery- close enough to hear what people were saying but hopefully far enough away where they wouldn't try to engage him in conversation- he fiddled with his weapons, perfunctorily cleaning them. It was really just a way to keep his hands busy and his eyes from straying to Carl. He'd been replaying the troubling scene with the boy in his head all day. After Carl shared Rick's revelation, Daryl was rendered speechless. His first reaction was to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. Then he considered saying he didn't know if it was true. He couldn't form those words, either. So he just stood there and…did _absolutely nothing_.

Carl didn't push. He waited a while and when it became clear that Daryl was tongue-tied, he said, "probably should get back to my sister now." Daryl had flushed, feeling more self-conscious and uncomfortable in his own skin than ever.

_All these years, Darlene, you've managed to deceive people, 'cept me, of course, into thinkin' you're tough. But nowadays, even some little snot-nosed kid can sense what a coward ya' are._

_Oh, can it, Merle_, he thought.

The flames sparked around the venison, casting a warm glow on people's faces. Laughter surrounded him. The scene transported him back to a similar one at the prison yard, right after they seized it. While he was busy making rounds to ensure things were secure that night (he thought an obvious thing one should be doing with the looming threat of some rancid dead dude nibbling on your extremities), the rest of the group lounged around a crackling fire, eating, telling stories, cozying up. For him, what solidified the fact that these people were a bunch of morons was that the younger Greene daughter started singing. Singing, for God's sake!

**_Of all the comrades that e'er I had_****_  
><em>****_They're sorry for my going away_**

**_And all the sweethearts that e'er I had_****_  
><em>****_They'd wish me one more day to stay _**

**_But since it fell unto my lot_****_  
><em>****_That I should rise and you should not _**

**_I gently rise and softly call_****_  
><em>****_Good night and joy be to you all_**

And it didn't end there; soon, the older Greene daughter joined in, as if they were at some Girl Scouts jamboree. Daryl remembered how he'd stood there, transfixed… not because of the singing (which wasn't half-bad), or even due to the two attractive girls. He was fascinated simply by the absurdity of it all.

**_Fill to me the parting glass _****_  
><em>****_And drink a health whate'er befalls _****_  
><em>****_And gently rise and softly call _****_  
><em>****_Good night and joy be to you all _**

He'd been closer than two ants on a bacon bit from saying, "Instead of singin' for your supper, you're supper, singin'. Didn't y'all get the memo 'bout how noise attracts these things?_" _But then he spied ol' Hershel getting all misty and felt guilty because the old bird was tough as nails and fair on top of it. Daryl was uncharacteristically willing to give him a pass for practically bawling while listening to his princesses warbling.

His attention was pulled to the present when he saw Beth move near Carol. In the past day or two, it seemed she'd been sticking closest to her, Carl and Rick. He wondered whether it was because one of those jigsaw memory pieces Carol talked about was falling into place. After all, she's had more memories with them— and him, he thought rather dejectedly- than the others in the group.

He chanced stealing a glimpse of her. Lately, he'd noticed a disturbing, growing instinct to have her within sight at all times; when she wasn't it made him nervous. He couldn't shake the anxiety that somehow, someway she'd be gone again. Leaving on his hunting trips had been more difficult than he wanted to admit to himself. He knew they were good for him, though, because as soon as he was in the liberating atmosphere of the forest, his mind would clear and he'd realize how irrational he was being. Beth had a lot of people around her now to keep her safe and to help her get better- people like Shepherd who were much more qualified than he. Yet, frustratingly, the lucidity he had amongst the trees would crumble the moment he returned to the school and spotted her blonde braid. His resolve would disintegrate and the driving need to guard her 24/7 would burn so hot inside that it nearly set his hair aflame.

He'd been acting on it, too…creeping around after her, hoping he was stealthy enough that she wouldn't detect him. Unfortunately, he didn't need to worry if the others' noticed. It had something to do with the fact that, in the silence of night, he'd occasionally felt so ill at ease that he'd end up dragging his pillow and blanket from his bed to the foot of her closed door. The others would just step around him, not daring to utter a word. He'd be gone before she cracked open the door in the morning.

Despite his stalking activities, he hadn't had any real interaction with her. She was still wary of him, and understandably so, he concluded. The rare times she looked in his direction and caught him staring at her, she'd turn away quickly. He saw his own words "you've ruined EVERYTHING" reflected in her limpid eye. He'd taken what Rick told him to heart, but he figured now wasn't the right time to force conversation: Blending his apprehension and discomfort with her jumpiness and unhappiness was a certain recipe for disaster.

Daryl squinted as the sun started to slip behind the oaks. Rick had come to sit by them, asking Beth if she wanted to hold the baby. She slowly nodded and opened her arms. "Judith wouldn't have made it this far without you, you know," Rick said. "I know ya don't remember, but I do, and I'm eternally grateful."

"It's true," Carol confirmed. "You also got to be pretty damn good with your weapons. People didn't mess with Beth Greene," she said, trying to coax a smile out of her. "You were our local archivist, too, really. Always documenting things in your diary."

"And ya sang for us," Daryl chimed in quietly and unexpectedly, surprising even himself. All eyes turned to him, including Beth's.

"That's right," Rick agreed, casting a thankful glance at Daryl. "You sang- you _sing_ - beautifully. Why, Hershel used to call you his little songbird, didn't he?"

Beth nodded and gave a melancholy smile. "And did I…did I play a piano for y'all?" she asked, searchingly. "I used to play at home."

"No. We didn't have a piano in the prison," Rick began.

"Yes, ya played for me," Daryl interrupted. His gaze shifted quickly back to his crossbow, rubbing it ridiculously vigorously with his bandana. He didn't have to look up to know everyone was gawking at him.

Willow and Shepherd sidled up just then, inadvertently disrupting the discussion. "Hey, has anyone seen Jack?" Willow asked. "He was going to do a loop with me to check the security around the borders."

Rose, who was nearby, responded without missing a beat. "Kitchen." She brushed a piece of brunette hair out of her face and gave Blondie— or Mason, as he was known to the others— a punch in the arm after he made some asinine comment.

"Hey, how about we change that bandage before dinner," Shepherd asked Beth kindly. She handed Judith back to Rick and dutifully stood. For a split second her eye flew to Daryl, as if she'd wanted to ask him a question about his piano comment. Instead, she walked by him without a word.

The venison continued to sizzle over the open flame. Carol was tending to it, rotating the meat to ensure it evenly cooked. Daryl felt the familiar disquiet erupt in his gut as Beth went inside and was gone from his field of vision.

"I'm going to go up to the turret to relieve Tyreese now," Sasha announced, standing and stretching.

"Oh, he and Noah switched turrets," Rose said off-handedly. "Tyreese said he wanted to see what it was like from the other vantage point. Here, Carol," she said, handing the other woman some wood to add to the fire.

Rick added, "I'll be up to take Noah's place in a split second." He kissed Judith and motioned for Carl to come over and get her.

"When you go to the kitchen to fetch Jack," Carol said, "could you ask Gabriel to bring out some more of those dried herbs we used to season the deer?"

"Not in the kitchen anymore," Rose blurted. "He's in the supply room trying to root out some paper plates."

Daryl's eyebrows knitted. Jesus, Noah hadn't been exaggerating about Rose having her thumb on everyone's pulse. If anything, Noah hadn't given her _enough_ credit. "Ya some kinda witch, Rose?" he asked her, breaking his latest silence. "Got yerself a crystal ball or somethin' showin' you everyone's whereabouts?"

Blondie chuckled. "Thought that at some point myself," he interjected. "It's a little creepy."

"Just observant," she said, shrugging.

"_I'm_ observant," Daryl retorted. "You're messin' in the dark arts."

Daryl knew he needed to wait a respectable amount of time before he slipped into the school to tail Beth, so he forced himself to keep up the dialogue. "Hey, how'd you know about this place, anyway?" he asked Rose.

Blondie shook his head. "You don't wanna know."

"Why's everyone always sayin' that to me?" Daryl quipped. "I asked, didn't I?"

"Go on, Rose. Tell the man," Blondie taunted.

"Shut up, Mason," she said, addressing Blondie. "I know this place because..." she mumbled the rest of her answer, and Daryl didn't catch it.

Carol jumped in. "Her daddy was the headmaster."

For the first time, Daryl saw Rose blush and he out and outright laughed.

* * *

><p>Still mulling over the fact that Rose's life was some bad made-for TV movie (prep school headmaster's daughter becomes a stripper- er, <em>exotic dancer<em>), Daryl left the group to see where Beth and Shepherd had gone. He crept along the hallways, feeling very much like the stalker he was. When he heard soft whimpers coming from one of the bathrooms, he stopped in his tracks.

"Beth, honey, it's healing great."

"It's hideous," she replied, her voice shaking.

He could hear Shepherd's heavy sigh. "Beth. I understand. I really do. But I also know life goes on. It HAS to go on. You're a survivor; a _fighter_. Maybe you don't remember everything yet, but if it hadn't been for you, we would all still be prisoners in Grady. That wasn't living. That was existing, s'all. We have a chance now, a real chance because of _you_. So you see? Life has to go on…"

Beth's sobs stilled some. "It doesn't have to go on for _everyone_," she said barely above a whisper, but with a chilling firmness.

He immediately pictured the jagged scar on her wrist. He'd been so focused on her being gone again, that he didn't stop to consider that there's more than one way for someone to become "gone."


	14. Can't Begin to Count All the Ways

Terror filled his lungs, crushing his ability to inhale. _She's going to leave me, and not even because someone manages to take her again. She's going to leave me of her own accord._

"Beth," Shepherd counseled, her voice gentle. "Even in this God-forsaken, twisted world, you have people who love you. More than that, there are people that _you_ love. You've just got give it time and allow your memories the chance to return. It's already started, right? So let them keep coming. Don't fight it. Take it day by day. Just …just hold on, ok?"

**_Oh you got to_**  
><strong><em>Hold on, hold on<em>**  
><strong><em>You got to hold on<em>**  
><strong><em>Take my hand, I'm standing right here<em>**  
><strong><em>You got to hold on<em>**

Daryl rubbed his temples, unable to dislodge the memory of her singing these words so long ago. Amplified and reverberated by the acoustics of the prison, her voice had sounded otherworldly.

"Don't worry, Shepherd," Beth said with mock cheerfulness. "I'm not going to do anything; I mean, I gotta stick around to see what 19's all about, right?" Through the door Daryl heard her voice hitch, as if she were going to start weeping again. And then, that's exactly what she did.

* * *

><p>As her crying turned to uncontrollable sobbing, he could endure it no longer. He fled down the hallway, slipped into his room and shut the door behind him. Leaning up against it for support, he realized his body felt all wrong, as if his skin were too tight for everything to fit inside. Like he needed to bust out of it or shed it like a snake sheds its skin.<p>

_Beth Greene has lost hope._

Then his own tears started coming, hot and furious. He slid to the floor and cradled his head in his hands.

_Beth Greene has lost hope._

Daryl cried at the thought of Beth choosing to end her life after all she'd been through. After all she'd already survived. He cried at the idea that she no longer believed there were good reasons to live. He cried knowing that she wasn't able to see the beauty in things anymore.

_Beth Green has lost hope._

Perhaps more than any other reason, he cried because the Beth Greene he knew had been the embodiment of promise and optimism. That Beth Greene was just... gone.

He took a shaky breath and pushed himself to a standing position. He crossed the room to look out the window, wanting to make sure that Beth and Shepherd had made it safely outside. They were standing near Carol, who was passing out plates filled with food.

_You're a bigger pussy than I thought._ Merle chuckled. If_ your little porcelain princess is "gone," go and get her back, then, ya dumbass! Jesus, Daryl, this here ain't how a Dixon operates. Ya want somethin', go and get it, even if ya have to lie, cheat and steal. Sick o' all the excuses, boy… all the "ain't smart for me to talk to her now" shit. Excuses are like backsides, little brother. Everyone's got 'em and they all stink." _

He turned for just a moment to reach into the closet. He dragged out the duffle bag he'd brought from Grady. He glanced out the window again, and saw Beth sitting cross-legged with Carol, her plate balanced on a knee. She didn't look up. Rose, on the other hand, did. She smiled and then saluted.

Daryl swore.

* * *

><p>He had a good, long smoke in his room to help calm his nerves. He wondered how many cigarettes had been snuck up to these bedrooms when it was still a girls' boarding school.<p>

Leaning against the window sill, he surveyed the activity below. From his vantage point, he could see about 10 walkers milling around, outside the secured gate. He saw Beth yawn and gesture back toward the school. He knew the signs; she was retreating. This was going to be his chance.

His heart beat faster, time standing still as he waited in the hallway in front of her room. He watched her round the corner, her blonde hair wild from Shepherd's quick bandage change. Despite his stomach being in knots, he stood his ground.

"Hey," he called to her, softly.

"Thanks for the deer," she said mechanically.

"Hey," he said more insistently. He grabbed her wrist lightly, his heart beating so fast he feared she could hear it.

"Yeah?" she asked, her eye travelling down to examine how his fingers encircled her wrist.

He saw her staring and promptly removed his hand. He didn't want to spook her. It was bad enough that he, himself, was about ready to balk. "I just wanna say… sorry."

"For what?"

"Can't begin to count all the ways," he acknowledged.

She shrugged. "S'ok." He could tell she didn't really mean it.

"Wait here," he said. "Wanna show ya something."

"Why?"

"Just…" He felt stupid and shy, and was concerned that he was on the verge of messing up again. Finally he managed to eke out, "I…I got a birthday present for ya, is all."

She took a deep breath. "Ok, I guess. But I promised Rick and Carol I'd put Judy down for the night. Let me take care'o that first, then I'll be up."

She dipped into her room to get a sweater.

"Ok," Daryl replied, deflated. As she disappeared down the hallway, he just watched her go.

* * *

><p>His muscles spasmed with tension as sat on his bed, the duffle bag still looped over his torso and shoulder. Beth hadn't been gone long, but the familiar anxiety was already reaching unprecedented levels, intensified by the fact that she'd intimated suicide.<p>

He decided he would go and find her, under the guise of showing her the gift while she was tending to the baby. He'd explain how he thought she'd want to use it with Asskicker. Of course, she'd see right through him, but at that point he didn't give a shit. He was worried, and apparently for good reason.

The bag wasn't heavy, but the contents were oddly shaped and fragile, so he couldn't go as fast as he wanted. He came across Tyreese, first. "You seen Beth? She said she was putting Asskicker down for the night."

Tyreese looked confused. "I saw Beth a while ago, but she wasn't with Judith. Said she was going to have Noah teach her how to check the boundaries, make sure things are secure." He tilted his head. "Somethin' wrong, Daryl?"

"Not sure," he grumbled. The two of them trudged outside and looked along the fence line.

"There," Tyreese said, pointing out Noah in the distance. The big man squinted. "But that's not Beth with him. Looks like Mason."

The ground seemed to fall out from under Daryl's feet. Without explanation he turned and ran back up to the dorms, kicking open her door and then a string of others without ceremony. The rooms, as he feared, were empty.

"Beth!" He yelled. **_"BETH!"_**


	15. Beth!

**_"_****_BETH," _**he yelled as he ran through the halls. It sounded funny to his ears, as if someone else were screaming her name and not him. He maneuvered into the kitchen area, accidentally knocking over a bunch of cans that were sitting on the center island. The clatter made Gabriel leap backwards.

"Beth here?"

"Beth? Haven't seen her in a while," the priest stuttered, skittering out of Daryl's way. "She headed outside with Shepherd earlier."

Daryl barreled through the kitchen to the basement door. **_"BETH!" _**He clamored down the steps, pulling out his gun; he felt a need to be prepared for anything. **_"BETH!" _**Clicking on his flashlight and snaking it around the room, he recoiled when he passed over a floppy mop propped on its end in a corner. Running back up the steep steps, two at a time, he almost collided with Michonne and Carl at the top. Gabriel stood plastered up against the kitchen counter, knuckles white from hanging onto the edge.

"Daryl?" Michonne gripped her katana in front of her. Carl's gun was also out, held steady. "What's going on," she demanded, her voice low and metered. "We heard you yelling…"

"It's Beth," He couldn't keep the dread out of his voice. "Lost her. Dunno where she is." He motioned back toward the entryway with his head. "C'mon," he ordered.

They found most everyone there now, bunched in a tight semi-circle. "I told them," Tyreese said, panting. "We did a quick sweep outside. Didn't see her." He glanced at Daryl out of the corner of his eye. "But wasn't a comprehensive search. Thought we'd come back here first and see what the status is."

"Status is, she's _gone_," Daryl spat, agitated.

Shepherd and Carol rounded the corner, Judith in the older woman's arms. "What the HELL is happening?" Carol asked, her eyes narrowing. Judith was crying and she bounced her on her hip, desperately to soothe her.

Mason piped in. "Can't seem to find Beth, but I'm sure she's around here somewhere."

That put Daryl over the edge, though he'd been trying to keep it- and his temper - in check. "She ain't NO WHERE, Blondie."

"Whoa, man, back off. I'm just sayin'…" He stepped back and held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Calm down, now," Jack said, putting himself in between Daryl and Mason.

"Daryl, STOP IT!" Carol reprimanded. "You're not helping things."

Daryl wasn't listening, however, because just then he'd locked eyes with Shepherd. All of his fears were poured into that stare.

She pushed by Jack and walked right up to him, apparently unafraid. "You were outside the bathroom door. You heard…" her voice trailed off.

"I heard," he said, looking pained.

"No! It can't be that_._ She said she was going to take Rick some food, up in the turrets." Doubt crept into her voice. "She wouldn't…. "

Daryl spun on his heels and ran up the steps that led to the turret. Less than halfway up, he steamrolled into Rick, hard enough that both men would've fallen if not for the handrail. "Saw Tyreese and the others scurrying about outside. Heard all the yellin'. What the hell is going on?"

"Beth up there with ya?" Daryl pointed toward the makeshift watchtower, his heart heavy.

"No," Rick responded, tilting his head. "She brought me up a plate of food, but that was a while ago. She with Judy, maybe?" Daryl knew the ex-cop had been well aware that he'd been shadowing the girl every minute he wasn't out hunting, and it was written all over the man's face that if Daryl was asking HIM where Beth was, well, there was a problem.

Things clicked together quickly for Rick. "Come on," he said, tearing down the rest of the stairs. They ended up in the lobby where the group was, each of them looking like horses ready to bolt in various directions.

Sasha came bounding down from the other set of turret stairs at about the same time. She instantly knew there was an issue. "Rick?" She asked, pulling her rifle close, in ready position.

"It's all right, Sasha," Rick said in his trained sheriff voice. "Everyone, now it's ALL RIGHT. Beth's… Beth must've taken a little walk, maybe fell asleep somewhere. Can't locate her right now, but before we panic, let's take some deep breaths. Search this place systematically. Nobody took her, Sasha and I didn't observe any vehicles. No intruders. We've all taken turns checking school boundaries; the gates, the fence…" He scanned around the room. "And it hasn't been that long, right? Let's break up into pairs and search this place inside and out. We'll find her."

"Rick," Shepherd said, her eyes lowered. "Wait. You need to know… you all should know…I shouldn't have left her alone. She was upset. I mean, really upset, more than usual, and talking about... well, giving up. I thought…I thought she was going to spend time with you when she took up your food. She's been remembering things, more and more. I thought she was going to talk to you about it… that it would make her feel better…I shouldn't have left her alone."

"You mean you're afraid she might kill herself," Carl interjected bluntly. Michonne sheathed her sword and nudged Carl to disengage his gun and put it away. "I want to help look for her. I'm not staying back this time," he said determinedly.

"Let's all just keep our heads," Rick said, his voice cracking just enough to show his dismay. "Carl, you go with Noah to scout out the tennis courts and pool areas; Tyreese and Michonne, check the area around the main gate and search the cars…make sure she's not…" he rubbed his beard thoughtfully and continued, "curled up in one. Y'all take your weapons, case ya run up against somethin' unexpected. You too, Carl," he said, though the boy was already more than prepared. "Shepherd, Willow…shake out the inside of this school, don't leave no stone unturned. Jack, head up to the towers and let us know if you see anything from there. And, Carol, could you watch after Judy? Just incase something bad does go down, I want her in capable hands. Gabriel, stay with her; both of ya wait right here in case Beth comes back. Now, I know you don't like it, Father, but take your knife and keep it close, I don't suspect you'll have to use it but I want you to have it nearby."

Rick turned to face Daryl. "You and I, let's go to the stables. They're furthest out on the property, but still within the fenced area. We can check around the grounds on our way out there, look for clues. Mason and Sasha…" he tossed Mason some keys, which he easily caught. "Head to the athletic center. Be careful. When we first got here, there were a number of walkers locked inside. We took care of 'em but don't want you to be a victim in case we missed one. Watch when you unlock that door, y'hear? Rose's dad got most everyone out and down to Atlanta before it got bad, but there were employee holdouts. Seemed they tried to bunker there."

Suddenly Daryl came to life. "Rose! Where's Rose?"

Jack turned around in a circle. "I don't know. Wasn't she just around?" He made eye contact with Mason.

Mason shrugged.

Rick's gaze flicked across the group. "Has _anyone_ seen Rose since Beth disappeared?"

No one, it seems, had.

* * *

><p>Daryl and Rick were halfway to the stables when Rick asked, "What's in the bag?"<p>

Daryl was confused at first, then remembered he still had the duffle wrapped around him. "Was somethin' for Beth, Noah said it was her birthday around now. Forgot I had it with all the chaos."

Rick nodded. "We'll find her." He paused. "Ya followed her like a hawk, Daryl. Ya couldn't have done anything more. It'll be ok."

Daryl knelt down, looking at some matted grass. "Two sets of prints," he announced. "Both small. One followed the other."

"Women's tracks. Or Carl's," Rick added. "How likely you think it is Beth would really try to hurt herself again?" Rick asked, point-blank."What Shepherd said.."

"Very," he grunted. "If she.." Daryl ran a hand through his hair. "Rick, dunno if I can take it. Or What if Rose...?"

"If Rose did something to hurt Beth, we'll take care of it." He looked sideways at Daryl. "Like we always do to keep our own safe. But I don't think that's the case, Daryl. I didn't get that from Rose. I think she's ok."

They continued following the footprints. "Beth tell you she remembered anything?"

Rick nodded. "She did. Said she didn't remember all of it, but she was starting to remember a lot more. Little things, like, one time I plopped my hat on her head and said, 'there's a new sheriff in town.' She remembered Zack," He eyed Daryl. "She remembered it was you who told her he didn't make it."

Daryl winced, recalling how off guard she caught him with her hug. And how good her hair smelled, and how he'd grasped her elbow and held on, because he didn't know what else to do.

The footsteps were clearly leading straight to the stable. "I want ya to let me approach first, ya'hear?" He voice was stern.

Daryl conceded."All right, then. But I'm right behind ya."

Rick crept up to an outside wall, near one of the stall door openings. "She's there," he mouthed to Daryl.

His heart hammered in his chest. Rick held up a hand so Daryl wouldn't move and then lifted a finger to quiet him. A few seconds later he motioned for Daryl to join him. They couldn't see what was going on inside from where they were crouched, but hearing them was easy.

"Beth." It was Rose's voice. "It won't be like that. I promise. Let's just say I'm schooled in the art of men. I know 'em inside and out." She gave a little giggle. "Pun intended."

Daryl looked at Rick, dumbfounded. Rick held up his finger again to silence him.

"I won't lie to ya. Life sucks ass. It did for me even before corpses starting coming back to life. Someday I'll tell ya the story of how I ended up working in a strip bar when I grew up with all of this." Daryl imagined Rose doing a grand sweep with her arm.

"But..." Beth interrupted.

"No, 'buts,' sweetheart. Ya gotta give people the benefit of doubt. Let your cowboy know ya remember, and then see what happens."

He stiffened. _Beth remembered something about him. When? And what?_

"You got us all away from Dawn, from being her slaves at Grady," Rose continued. "The gunshot wound is just a battle scar to remind everyone, including you, how brave you are. It's beautiful. I bet he thinks that, too."

A small sob escaped Beth. "If he knows I remember, he'll… he'll just... it'll just be outta of pity. Obligation. I ain't dumb, Rose. That's what I woulda done, shoe'd been on the other foot. I woulda tried because it was the right thing to do, not necessarily because it was what I wanted to do."

"Bullshit," Rose said. "You would've wanted to be with him just the same. Love's idiotic like that. Now, give me the knife."

Daryl and Rick kept eyeing each other, ready to pounce if needed. They both pretended not to hear the exact nature of the conversation.

Rose sighed. "Good girl," her voice quaked. "Now come back to the school with me, let's get you some sleep. I'll stay with you. Nobody has to know 'bout this 'cept you and me, ok?"

"I can't. Can't bear to be around people right now. Can't I just stay here a while? It's safe. Ain't no walkers. The way people look at me sometimes, I...I mean, especially Daryl..."

Daryl could contain himself no longer. He moved away from Rick and burst through the front door, startling both women. Rick followed right behind. Beth was sitting in an old metal chair in the walkway, horse stalls lining either side. Rose was protectively shielding her.

"Rose," Rick asked. "How'd you…?"

"Rick!" she said, sagging with relief. "I didn't want to leave her."

The brunette backed away, the knife dangling in her hand. "I saw Beth heading out here. Thought maybe she'd like a little company. Girl talk 'n all," she gave Beth an encouraging little smile, but Daryl noticed the brunette's hands were shaking so much that the knife looked like it was going to clatter to the ground any second. Rick rushed forward and gave the woman a hug, slipping the knife from her fingers into his own. "Thank you," he said, his hand cupping the back of her neck with his free hand. "Thank you."

He pulled back from Rose and leaned down to give Beth a kiss on her cheek, at the same time hugging her tightly. "We love you more than you know. Ya gave us a damn good scare." He rubbed her back.

Daryl warily approached her. Rick stood, and the two men eyed each other. "Ok, brother," Rick mumbled. "Ok." He put his hand on Rose's lower back and guided her out of the stables, leaving Daryl and Beth alone.

Daryl slowly knelt down by Beth. He looked up through his messy hair, pinning their gazes. Her eye was dull with tears and limp from exhaustion, but still that sweet slate blue. Brimming with emotion, he asked her quietly, "How long has it been since ya remembered?"

She didn't say anything at first. Her hands fidgeted in her lap. He didn't force it; instead he silently reached up and tucked a stray hair behind her exposed ear. "A while," she finally whispered.

Daryl picked up her arms and turned them over, examining her wrists to make sure she hadn't done anything. He pressed one of her palms against his cheek. She let him.

"What do you remember," he croaked.

"Some of it," she replied, her eyes downcast. "I know we escaped from the prison together."

With two fingers, he tilted up her chin to align their eyes again. "You remember us burnin' down that moonshine cabin?"

She nodded, and a half-sob, half-giggle escaped her.

"S'good," he replied. "Real good."

He laced his fingers in hers, the way Beth had done in front of the gravestone.

"Ya remember this?"

She nodded shyly. "And that you're got disgusting table manners," she added.

Before he knew what he was doing, he leaned up and ghosted his lips across hers, barely touching, but enough so that the rest of the world disintegrated around him.

"Ya remember that?" he asked huskily.

"No," she replied, barely audible.

He could feel them both trembling. "That's because it never had the chance to happen."


	16. Before I Shut Ya Up

The relief he'd felt by brushing his sunburned lips against her soft ones had been immense; but now that the moment had passed, he could feel doubts mounting, wondering if he'd done something incredibly inappropriate. He pulled back suddenly, sat on his heels and mumbled, "Sorry."

After a beat or two she asked slowly, "Are ya?"

His eyes snapped to hers. "No," he answered plainly and a little more urgently than he had intended. He exhaled slowly, hoping to calm his erratic heartbeat. Being so close to her made him want to run his hands over her entire body, just to make sure she was real and not some figment of his imagination.

"Well…" she continued awkwardly, "I… Daryl...what I did… I meant to do it. I'm bad for the group. For y...for all of you." She paused. "I mean, Noah can't get home to Richmond and no one else can get to DC. 'Cause of me."

"Stop," he growled, thinking about the conversation he overheard between her and Rose:

**_"__If he knows I remember, he'll… he'll just wanna be with me outta of pity. I ain't dumb, Rose. That's what I woulda done, shoe'd been on the other foot. I woulda tried because it was the right thing to do, not necessarily because it was what I wanted to do."_**

He wished he could forget what he'd heard. He stared at the floor, upset that she would think he was so shallow, but unable to say it. Finally he threw out, "Well…what about your sister?"

"She'll be fine. Maggie'll _always_ be fine_. _She ain't like me."

"Beth." He wanted to say more, but hesitated.

"What?"

He stiffly stood and stuffed his hands in his pocket. "Just… I wanna know that you ain't gonna try that again."

She shook her head. "I can't promise you that, Daryl. Wouldn't be honest of me."

"You _haveta_," he countered, a stab of fear shooting through him. He wanted to tell her to promise it for _him, _that for _him_ she would stay alive, fight… but he knew it wasn't right to ask that of her. Instead he looked at her profile and tried to ignore the pooling acid in his stomach.

Beth looked equally uncomfortable. Daryl figured it was best to change the subject before the conversation got even more complicated and challenging for him to navigate. He was fairly certain he'd just make things worse if it continued the way it was going. "I, ah, brought your present here," he said, nodding toward the duffle. He hoped it would do the job of getting them both off the current topic. "Well, go on," he said with mock impatience, waving his hand."Whatcha waitin' on, a gold-emboassed invitation? Open it." He pulled out a cigarette and lit it so that he would have something other than her to focus on. He blew out a steady stream of smoke, creating a temporary barrier between them.

Slowly she stood, brushing her hair over her shoulder. She knelt down to where the bag was and gingerly unzipped it, pulling the edges open so that she could peer inside. A smile spread across her face. "Daryl!"

He watched her closely, pleased that she seemed genuinely excited. Then she put her hands on hips. "Daryl, did ya…?"

"Nah. Didn't pinch it. Asked him for it." He crossed his arms, flicking the ashes from his cigarette onto the floor.

"Asked?" She repeated, eyebrow quirked.

"_Asked_." He raised an arm to take another puff, nodding at her take out and examine the gift.

The doctor's record player, which looked like a little suitcase, was easy for her to maneuver out of the bag. She undid the latch and angled it open, revealing the turntable and arm. Giving the turntable a little spin, she grinned.

"Ya like music," he said, then immediately chastised himself for stating the obvious.

"Hmmm," she confirmed as she dug around in the bag. She pulled out an album and took the record out of its sleeve. It was broken.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Been bangin' it around. Hope the others are ok."

"S'ok," she said. "Didn't like that one anyway. Not much of Steely Dan fan," she cringed. When she pulled out the rest of the albums, a paperback book fell out. She picked it up and frowned.

Daryl had completely forgotten that he'd stuffed the abuse survivor book in the bag. His fight-or-flight response kicked in, but it was all flight this time. The scars on his back started to tingle even though they'd been healed for decades. He rotated his shoulders to try to make it stop. He wondered if she could see his heart pounding in his chest.

"What is this," she asked, the suspicion clear in her voice.

He grunted. "Not part of your present."

"Figured as much." She looked up at him and held his gaze for a moment until he averted his eyes guiltily. "It yours?"

He kicked the heel of one of his boots against the stable door. "Kinda."

She asked pointedly, "Do I know 'bout this?"

"Not much," he mumbled, ashamed. He twisted his free hand around the bottom of his shirt. _Nice goin', Darlene...__Both of ya now know the other is damaged...the blind leading the, er, blind... heh-heh..._

She had a faraway look, as if remembering something specific. "Ya get scared…" she said, her voice trailing off.

"Maybe," he admitted softly, taking another drag on his cigarette to calm his now shaking hand. He held the smoke in his lungs for longer than usual, until they felt ready to burst. He huffed out the smoke all at once, feeling it scratch and burn the back of his throat. The pain made him feel alive, reminding him that he was there, with her, after all that time he'd searched for her, after he'd almost given up… After she'd almost died...

He crossed over to her in two steps and reached down to grab her elbow, guiding her to a standing position. "Maybe I'm scared right now."

"Why would you be scared? There ain't no walkers. There's nothin' here threatin' ya right n... "

"Just shut up, Beth," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her protectively, pulling her so that her head settled into the crook of his neck. "Before I shut ya up."


	17. I Gotcha

Daryl thought he heard a small sigh escape Beth as folded her into his arms, but when he hinted he might shut her up by kissing her, she suddenly became rigid, pushing her hands into his chest to create space between them.

"You shouldn't feel like you haveta…" she started.

"I don't feel like I haveta _NOTHIN'_," he interrupted indignantly. He let her out of his embrace, but held fast to one wrist. "You need to get somethin' straight, girl. A **_Dixon_** don't do what he has to… a **_Dixon_** only does what he wants to." In his mind Merle laughed. _Amen, baby brother. Amen._

"I mean…why? The way I am…" She motioned toward her bandaged head and her scarred wrist with her free hand.

"The hell, Greene," he said exasperated. He dropped her arm and paced a few steps and then turned back around to stop right in front of her. "Don't care about that." His thumb flew to his mouth and he began to chew. "Don't care about none of that." How was he supposed to explain himself to her? _Shit, I don't even know how to explain me to_ myself, he thought._ What the hell is it I'm tryin' to achieve here? I'm losing' my fricken mind; she's a kid!_

"But…"

He knelt down to look through the albums, trying to buy himself time to figure out what to say to her. "Cheap Trick. The guy had at least some decent taste in music." He pulled out the unbroken album, angling it so that light reflected off of it. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the abuse book still sitting on the ground. He quickly snaked his fingers around it and scooped it up, stuffing it back in the duffle in one swift movement.

"Look, I only care about one thing," he lied. "And that's teachin' ya to protect yerself and others. Ya were good at it, no reason why ya can't be again."

She shook her head. "And how is that gonna happen, exactly, Einstein?"

He snorted. "I can teach a monkey to clog dance, if I wanted. I think I can handle instructin' a little girl with her weapon."

"I mean, whatcha gonna teach me to use? With my history? Ya gonna trust me with a knife, after what I done? Ya think I wanna get anywhere near a gun, with what happened to me?"

He peered up at her thoughtfully."Ya gotta point, even if ya are being sassy about it," he admitted. "But I'll find ya somethin', then we start trainin'. The quicker we get ya in fightin' form, the faster we can leave here, get Noah to Richmond and finally get ya back with yer sister." He stood and resisted touching her, worried that she'd stiffen and push him away again.

She huffed, rubbing the scar on her wrist. She looked completely unconvinced.

"Listen, I ain't gonna waste my time," he added brusquely, nodding toward her scar. "You gonna off yourself in the near future, no use me teachin' ya _nothin'_." He put the album away then wiped his hands on his jeans. "I got better things to do than to show some dead girl how to defend herself and maybe how to save someone else."

Beth squared her shoulders, ignoring his comment. "Why don't ya go on up to the school now. I just ain't ready to be around people yet. Not sure if I'm ever gonna be ready."

"Ya can't stay here forever," he argued, though he took comfort in knowing that she didn't say she couldn't be around him… just other people. "S'cold at night," he said more gently. "Ain't no food or water down here. You need your bandaged changed up." He noticed that she winced at the mention of her bandage.

"I'll be fine here myself, lock myself in one of the stalls. I'll come back up tomorrow."

"Uh huh," Daryl said dismissively.

"You can't babysit me forever, Daryl."

"You show me you don't need babysittin' and I'll stop," he answered gruffly.

Something thudded outside the main stable door and he spun around with his knife out and ready. He silently motioned for Beth to be quiet and to move into the stall. At first he thought she was going to put up a fight, but she did as he wanted and he crept over to the door. When it remained quiet outside for a minute or two, Daryl inched it open, made a noise in the back of his throat and then pushed it open all the way, his arms dropping to his side. "Damn Rose," he mumbled as he looked down at the large box and up at the bobbing brunette ponytail heading back to the school. A reluctant-looking Mason was being dragged behind.

"What is it?" Beth asked, emerging from the stall.

Wedging the big box inside, he pronounced, "Room service."

He pulled out two bottles of water and tossed her one, which she easily caught. Rummaging around, he lifted out a can of vegetable soup and some peaches. "Enough food and water here for a week," he grumbled, sifting through the supplies. He hit a soft layer and hauled it out, groaning. There were clean clothes for each of them, along with two toothbrushes and toothpaste. Under the clothes was a bottle of red wine and some fancy looking candles. With that, he reddened.

Beth must've noticed, because she asked, "What the heck else is in there?"

"She thinks we're on a damn vacation." He lifted out the red wine and purple and gold candles, and set them next to each other on the concrete floor. He fingered the candles, then looked up at Beth and said belligerently, "'Well… ain't no electricity out here."

Beth crossed her arms and shook her head. "Rose…"

Stuffed in the corner of the box Daryl saw rolled bandages, tape and scissors. He pulled them out and placed them on the clothes so that they would stay clean. He stole a glance at Beth and saw her face fall at the sight of the medical supplies.

She bent down and picked up the wine. "I want a damn drink."

"Heard that before," he said under his breath.

"When I say that?"

"How'd ya think we got to that moonshine cabin?" He asked.

"Details're still fuzzy. It was my doin'?" She seemed skeptical.

He shrugged. "Ya wanted a drink, so I gotcha one."

She leaned down and picked up the wine. "Well, I want one again, now." She sounded weary.

He nabbed it from her. "Ya need to eat, not drink. Come on," He took the soup and two spoons and headed out the front door. He grabbed a few twigs and cracked them in half. Digging a small hole, he built a fire. After carefully opening the can with his knife, he placed it on the flames. When it was heated through, he wrapped his bandana around it so he could hold the tin without burning himself.

Beth sat mute next to him, taking the can and perfunctorily spooning soup into her mouth whenever he passed it to her. He took a few bites himself, but only so she would eat. He was too jittery to think much about food. His mind kept wandering back to when he held her hand and kissed her. He caught himself staring at her lips, and, angry at himself, redirected his gaze to the can of peaches. He took his knife and stabbed open the can, hard.

"What those peaches do to you?" Beth probed.

He grunted a non-response, then held the open can out to her. "Go on," he encouraged.

She took it and fished out a peach. Daryl squinted up at the dark sky, noting that the sun had long slipped behind the trees and it was getting cold, even sitting by the fire. "You wanna go in?" He stood and extended a hand to help her up. When she took it, a little jolt of electricity ran through him. As soon as she was on her feet he let it go, but the warm tingles lingered. He stomped out the flames and watched her walk back into the stable, the blonde hair not kept hostage under the bandage swaying as she moved.

Once inside, they barred the doors and Daryl lit one of the candles. He scoffed at fancy dots and swirls, but a candle was a candle and they needed to see. "We'll only use 'em 'til I fix ya a place to sleep. No use wastin' them."

"Cause they're so pretty?" Beth asked, her tone mocking.

"Cause they're _candles_."

Daryl looked around and spotted a couple of wool striped horse blankets. "Here, hold this," he said, giving her the candle. When she took it from him, their hands brushed up against each other's, and he felt that same little shock. He shook out the blankets, sending dust motes everywhere, causing Beth to cough. He stepped into one of the stalls and rearranged the straw so that it was in a neat pile, then spread two wool striped horse blankets on top.

Beth stood at the door watching him, holding up the candle.

"Your presidential suite's ready," Daryl said, trying to make a joke. She stood rooted to the spot. When it become clear she wasn't going in, he asked, "S'problem?"

"I…"

He waited, looked at her, but she didn't finish. "Here," she said, handing him the candle. She went in and sat on the blanket, stiff and straight.

Daryl closed the door without a second look and took up his usual position sitting outside her door. It wasn't long after he blew out the candle that he heard small whimpers. "Y'all right?" He asked through the door.

"It seem like I'm all right?" She sniffed.

He stood and pulled the stall door ajar. She was still sitting there, her face wet with tears. "Damn it, Beth," he uttered, as he walked in and lowered himself to straw pile. He sat, his back up against the stall wall. "Come here," he commanded. He drew her in and her head rested on his chest. _She's just a kid._He reached over and pulled the blanket around them. _A frightened kid. _He tried to even out his breathing but being so close to her made it difficult to breathe at all, let alone regulate it. And with her head right there….well, he knew for sure she'd be able to tell he was nervous.

She brought one hand up to where his heart was pounding and held it there, but didn't say anything. Daryl was grateful for her silence then, and tentatively rested his chin on top of her head.

"Didn't thank ya for my present," she whispered finally. The way he felt her voice vibrate through his chest sent shivers down his spine.

"Shhh… go to sleep. I gotcha," he responded, though he knew the way every nerve in his body was firing that sleep, for him, would be damned near impossible. He decided he should probably stop trying to convince himself that Beth Greene was just a kid, because his body sure as hell knew otherwise.


	18. No Hurry

After a couple of hours in the darkness and safety of the stall, Daryl's body began to adjust to Beth's nearness, and he relaxed enough where his eyelids began to wilt. Beth had long ago succumbed to sleep, her breathing deep and unhurried. He kissed the top of her head and began to gently maneuver her so that they could lie down.

"S'wrong?" She mumbled in her sleep.

"Hush, now," he responded. He was careful to position her arms and legs so that they were beside him but not touching. He didn't want her to get the wrong idea. _Ya mean the RIGHT idea, lover boy, _Merle taunted. Though he'd taken such pains to create space, she instantly rolled over and draped her arm and one leg over him; her limbs loose and unfettered and her breath unaltered. He squinted down at her, his blood rushing dangerously fast through his veins again, and cautiously moved one arm to hold her to him, propping the other behind his own head. He didn't quite trust himself to wrap both arms around her while her body was so lazily draped over his; anyway, he was actually tired now, and sleep probably couldn't wait much lon….

* * *

><p>He opened his eyes with a start; the sun streaming through the cracks in the old barn wood. Beth lay fully in his embrace, plastered so tightly to him that he felt at once both panic and a heady thrill. He knew he should extricate himself before she was fully awake, but having her body entwined with his made him greedy: He didn't <em>want<em> to let go.

"_WHERE_...?!" she sat up suddenly in confusion, straw sticking out all over her exposed hair.

"S'ok, Beth…it's safe. Just mornin'," his voice was gravely with sleep and disappointment that her body no longer sheathed his. _God, she's so beautiful, it's painful, _he thought. He studied her profile and resisted tracing her nose with his finger, knowing he would just end running his fingertips across her lips, waiting for them to part so that he could lean in and…

_Listen, Darlene. Why you gettin' your lace panties in a wad over this gal? Jesus, just screw 'er already and get your mind back where it belongs! All this 'gentleman' bullshit is...well, bullshit! Maybe you're just scared. When's the last time you gave someone a good fuck? Hell, the last time you gave anyone a fuck at all? She's just a teenager, for God's sake, she won't know the difference..._

She looked around, taking in the situation, "Oh..." She looked at the rumpled blankets and how close Daryl was to her. "_Oh_," she repeated, but with comprehension.

He put his hands in his lap and laced them together. _Pull yourself together, _he thought.

The last time he'd woken up with a girl in his bed, he and Merle had been out drinking at some biker bar. The woman, a busty redhead, had pushed him up against the hall near the restrooms. There'd been no games: she ran her hand along his crotch and said simply, "I'm gonna fuck you tonight." Daryl had been bored, and Merle already had some heroine-skinny girl hanging all over him at the bar. He figured, why not? They took the women home and while Merle was making all sorts of appreciative noises in his bedroom, Daryl dragged the woman out on the porch and did her from behind while she was bent over the railing. Sure, he got off— but it wasn't good and beyond unsatisfying. After he zipped up his pants he thought how he would've had a better orgasm (and much less potential trouble) if he'd just watched some porn instead.

The woman had tried to kiss him after and he held her at arm's length, grunting some lie about how good it had been and maybe he'd see her again sometime. As he guided her to her car, she suddenly halted and asked if she could stay the night. He was surprised and certainly didn't want her to, but felt guilty enough that he said yes. He tried to sleep with her in the bed, but ended up just tossing and turning. He slipped out early before she awoke, leaving no note and no promises. Merle teased him mercilessly for days about him being a pushover and started calling the woman his old lady. Daryl didn't even remember her name…if he even got it in the first place.

But waking up next to Beth…well, waking up next to her felt so right, so intimate…her sweet-smelling warmth filling his nostrils… he actually felt a little scared about the amount of tenderness he felt towards her. She was so soft, no angles except for her pointy elbows, which he'd had a strange obsession with ever since she hugged him the first time in the prison. He remembered how it had seemed to fit perfectly in his palm, as if molded specifically to reside there.

He tried to swallow but his throat felt too constricted. He wanted nothing more than to gather her up in his arms again and lie there with her, but he dared not come right out and say it. He didn't even want to imagine how Merle would react to that.

"Ya still tired?" he asked hopefully.

She yawned. "A little, I guess."

His heart thundering, he gathered his courage and mumbled, "Here, lay back down. In no hurry." Guiding them both back down, he subtly nudged her so that her head rested on his chest again. He draped the blanket on top of them, and was caught completely off guard when she burrowed her head into his chest like a kitten.

He let out a long breath and put one arm over her again. "Fuckin' A, Beth," he whispered.

"Daryl," she said softly.

"Yeah?" He said, not meaning to, but tightening his grip.

"I ain't worth anythin' anymore. I'm messed up."

"Stop," he murmured, his breath causing little her stray hairs to dance. "You're worth a lot to...everybody." He was unable to say, "me."

She looked up at him, resolve on her face. "I ain't."

"Are," he argued gently.

"Ain't." She swallowed a small sob and nuzzled deep into his neck.

"I'm tellin' ya right now," he said barely above a whisper. "I might be trying' to help ya, but I'm still just a man. Ya keep doin' that, I'm not sure I'm gonna be able to control myself."

"Doin' what?" He felt her hot tears on his neck, and suddenly her hand was resting on his stomach right above his belt buckle.

Daryl groaned. "Beth… "

She looked up at him."Yes...Mr. Dixon?"

With that, he nearly had a seizure.


	19. I'll Ruin Ya

_Mr. Dixon._

Once again, calling him that conjured memories of the cabin and what he'd imagined doing to her there, juxtaposed by how he felt now while she nestled into his chest. His thoughts were pinging in a million different directions. He knew what he wanted to do, but guessed she had no idea what she was really feeling or what, exactly, she was after.

Beth's choppy breathing seemed amplified to him, as did the straw creaking beneath their weight. Nothing sounded natural, not even the whistling wind coming through the cracks in the barn door. Her hand remained resting on his stomach, her thumb moving slowly up and down, in small caresses. He put his hand over hers to stop her.

"Ya can't mess with me like that, Beth," he said hoarsely. The presence of her tiny arm on his abdomen felt magnified, as if it weighed hundreds of pounds. He steered her arm off of him and onto the straw.

"I ain't messin' with ya," she said under her breath. Echoing what he'd said earlier, she added, "I ain't so good at controlling myself all the time, either."

"Ya don't know what you're sayin'." Blood pounded in his ears.

"I do. I…" she hesitated a moment. "I… I want to feel alive, just once, before I'm gone for real."

"_Stop it_, Beth." Crows screeched outside the barn, and in his heightened awareness, they were so loud they might as well have been in his head. He noticed her thin blonde eyelashes, barely there, and wondered if they would feel like silk brushing up against him.

"I ain't an idiot. You think it's gonna matter even if I learn how to use a weapon again, some walker come up on my blind side?" She spoke calmly, without emotion, though her body shuddered. "I won't see it to be able to kill it. I'm as helpless as Judith. I won't have other people riskin' their lives to save me again, Daryl. I won't." She paused and put her hand back on his belly."Maybe if I'd just walked away, not let Dawn get to me… You were right. I was stupid, and now I'm saddlin' the group and I'm beyond fixin', inside 'n out. Beyond damaged."

_Damaged. Damaged. Damaged. _The blood pounded even louder in his ears. _Damaged. Damaged. Damaged._

"Enough," he spat, interrupting both her and his own intruding thoughts. Without thinking, he flipped them both over and pinned her beneath him, holding himself up partially by his elbows on either side of her head. Her eye flew open wide with surprise. "Now you listen, and listen real good," he said, his voice thick and ragged, his face mere inches from hers. "You ain't _damaged_. You were hurt. Me! I'm damaged." He tried to stop himself from talking but it was as if floodgates opened. "You saw that book! You don't know what I done to others even before the world went to shit. You don't know what's been done to _me_." He drew a shaky breath. "And _I'm_ the one that was stupid, I let ya get taken. None of the woulda happened if I'd been payin' attention, but I was stupid and soft and weak." He moaned, "_I_ was stupid, STUPID!"

He could feel her trembling beneath him, but she didn't try to push him away. His brain was spinning: She was splayed under him, _finally_…his erection, rock hard, sank into her soft belly…the aching need that coursed through his body, burning like snake venom…his vision tunneled to her and only her, as if nothing else existed.

He inched his face even closer to hers. "Don't ya get it? I want ya more than I ever wanted _anything_ in my whole life." Heat and pressure stabbed his eyes. "And that's bad. _I'm _bad," his voice cracked. "Do you understand? I don't want to want ya. I'm gonna make it worse. I'm gonna make _you_ worse."

She shook her head in rebuttal, her chin quivering. "I want to feel alive…." A tear rolled down and he gently kissed it.

"No. I'm gonna hurt ya..." he rasped. Her arm curved around his bicep and he kissed her other cheek. He grabbed a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, whispering, "I'm a _Dixon_, Beth. I'll use ya, that's it. There ain't nothin' more."

"Daryl," Beth sighed. She lifted the hand that had been on his arm and rubbed the back of her fingers slowly along his stubble.

"I don't want to want ya," he repeated, as he dropped his head and nuzzled her ear with his nose. "I'll ruin ya…" He nipped her jawline and she made a little whimpering sound. "I ain't good, Beth."

She craned her neck so he could reach more of it. He swiped his tongue up, tasting her, his stomach free-falling with the sensation. "I'll hurt you," he murmured again.

"I don't care," Beth breathed, moving slowly beneath him, arching up into his hard-on.

"Ya _should _care." He rose back up on his elbows and looked down at her, her china white skin flushed, her blue eye dark with lust. He hovered there, over her lips. Everything he thought he knew was slipping away from him, and only one thing mattered: Beth was there, with him, and he _needed_ her. He leaned down and stopped right before their lips touched. "Tell me ya won't try ta hurt yourself no more," he whispered. "I want to hear you say it," his voiced cracked. "_Tell me."_

She froze beneath him. "I…I can't."

He brushed his lips across her forehead and lifted his head again to hold her gaze. "Ya _can._ I ain't gonna teach a dead girl how to use a weapon and I ain't gonna fuck one, neither."

When she didn't answer, he stopped, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He could barely catch his breath. He quickly pulled her up so that she was sitting next to him, holding her tightly against him.

"Daryl, don't stop..." she pleaded. "I need..." She didn't finish, because he hushed her up.

With shaking hands he lit a cigarette, still holding her close.

"Ya ain't ready," he said in voice that sounded deep and unfulfilled, even to him. "Not until ya decide ya want to live."


	20. Then Tell Me

They'd sat there in companionable silence, Daryl smoking and focusing on the ashes, Beth gripping his torso tightly. Slowly his erratic breathing subsided, as did Beth's. The elephant in the room had been at least acknowledged. When he'd finished his cigarette, he stubbed it out on the wall, making sure no embers were lit to cause any fires. Not having anything to do with his hands, he decided he'd better get them up and away from the bed, where they'd just been...been... _what? _He pushed it out of his mind for the moment, unable to really make much sense of what had just happened, other than he'd been one zip away from screwing Beth straight to the Earth's core.

He stood and offered Beth his hand to help her off the straw. "We got work to do," he said, referring to more than weapons training. She grasped his outstretched fingers and he hauled her up easily. Again, he felt a surge of tenderness wash over him, and it flashed in his consciousness that maybe what they almost did would have been more than just a fuck. When she circled her arms under his shoulders, he slid his hand to the back of her neck, reining her into him, and let out a deep sigh.

"I'm lost," she whispered into his chest.

"I know." He cleared his throat, thinking the same thing about himself. "Think you're ready to go back up to the school?"

"No!" she said emphatically. "I mean, no, not yet. Maybe," she paused. "Maybe we can just stay here until I can show 'em I can use a weapon. Then at least I'll have something accomplished. I mean, they'll all know what I done by now."

Daryl didn't want to lie. "Probably. But we all done stuff, Beth. Ya gotta move on." He let go of her, and immediately felt her absence, although she was less than a foot from him. "We gotta figure out what you can use other than knives and guns." He rubbed his chin. "Tell me, anything ya remember about before, when you were growin' up maybe, might be useful? I mean, I don't think cheerleadin' skills will come in too handy, less you can cartwheel over the walkers." He peeked at her through his fringe, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Wasn't no cheerleader!" She huffed indignantly. "But thanks for playin', Daryl." She walked out of the stall and he followed her, watching her scan the barn. She almost made him jump when she unexpectedly shouted, "Daryl!"

"What's wrong?!" he yelled, spinning around, looking for the threat.

"Nothing! Maybe something that's _right_!" she exclaimed. "I wasn't a cheerleader. I was color guard!"

"What the hell is that? You monitor crayon use or somethin'?" He inquired.

"No! I spun flags during the music, it was to enhance the drums, visually."

"The hell?"

"Ain't ya never been to a high school football game?" She asked, her hands on her hips.

"Yeah. When Merle & I were going to meet someone to beat up."

"I'm serious."

"Me too."

"Point is," she continued excitedly, "I know how to spin long poles, how to maneuver them all around me. And look…" She pointed to a long, metal pole hanging from a hook in the corner. Daryl walked over to where she was pointing, pulled it down and examined it. Something that was close to a chuckle escaped him. "You..._laughin'_?" She asked incredulously.

"Look," he said, carrying it back over to her. It was a heavy iron rod, with a small "B" twisted at the end. "Even has a 'B' for Beth."

She coughed, trying to hide her own giggle. "I think that's for 'Buckingham School', but nice thought. So, I'm gonna brand walkers to death? Make sure everyone knows they're mine?"

Daryl continued his version of a grin. "Good to see your sense of humor ain't totally abandoned ya. But, ya had a good idea, I think. Even though it's top heavy, ya should be able to learn to move it around like your baton…"

"_Flag pole_," she insisted.

"Ya can use it to club the walkers and then pierce their skulls. Their heads ain't so hard anymore, after all this time. Don't take much to destroy 'em. And the pole's long enough where it gives you some distance from them, and not too heavy."

She grabbed it and it immediately weighed her arms down, like some cartoon character trying to hold up a weight-lifter's barbell. "Kinda heavy," she corrected.

"So we work on your upper body strength. Stamina, too. Ya done good. We can make this work until you are ready for other weapons." Daryl was about as enthusiastic as Daryl Dixon ever got, and he hoped she was able to sense his optimism, because he wasn't the jumping up and down kind of guy. "Come on," he said, heading toward the front door. When they walked out into the blinding sunshine, Daryl noticed how ragged her bandage was, and flinched thinking of how he had to bring it up that it needed to be changed.

He took stock of the environment: A few random walkers out beyond the gate, a couple of people out back of the school- maybe Carol and Noah; too hard to see from that far. Nothing seemed out of sorts. The school itself loomed large in his vision; even from the back it was proper and elite looking, with its big stone foundation and curved windows of the turrets. He tried to imagine a teenaged Rose bopping around, and realized it wasn't all that hard. She probably still had that ponytail and gait of a dancer; only years of ballet produced someone so light and graceful on her feet. Suddenly he was grateful for her, for showing them this school and for forcing him in her own special way to recognize that he and Beth needed their own space to work shit out.

"First thing," he motioned for her to get in front of him. "Hold it here…" he placed one of her hands on the pole, "and here. Holdin' it this way will give you the most control and thrusting power. You hold it too far down at the end and you might gain distance, but you lose that control and power." He could've just shown her with his own hands; it was a very thinly veiled excuse to touch her.

She wrapped her fingers around the metal. "Like this?"

He nodded approvingly. "Cause it's top heavy, you'll wanna practice thrusting upward into the skull instead of straight on or downward, until you can hold it up better 'n not get so tired." He grabbed the iron back and demonstrated the technique. Although she wasn't using enough force or power- at least she was trying, and he felt that was a win. She started to gain confidence after a while and got more aggressive with the thrusts.

"S'good." He noticed that the pole was starting to hang in her hands and that she must be tired already. "Need a break?" Beth gave the pole a little spin like she must've in the band with her colorful flag, her lips quirking at the corners. "Don't get cocky," he said teasingly.

"Break would be good," she replied.

"I'll start a fire to heat up some grub; you go on in and rest," he ordered. He was half-afraid that would elicit a "Yes, Mr. Dixon," but she just walked up to him and stood toe to toe, threading her arms under his.

She held on several beats longer than the norm. "Thanks," she said, giving him a quick squeeze at the same time.

As if on cue, his heart started thudding mercilessly again, and it took all he had not to tilt up her head and engulf her lips with his. Where all this was coming from he didn't quite understand. It wasn't like before, _ever._ He understood lust and had acted on it, well...countless times. He'd been no saint. But then again, he couldn't remember once when he'd been terrified the woman would leave him, the way he feared Beth would. If anything, like with the busty redhead, it was just the opposite. Beth let go of him first and headed back inside the barn, looking only forward.

* * *

><p>He'd fanned the small fire he'd made, deciding it was ready. Ducking inside to get some of the canned food, he halted and took in the scene in front of him: Beth was standing there, with the abuse survivor book open in her hand, looking guilty. They stood facing each other, neither uttering a word. Daryl's heart sank, and his gaze immediately shifted to the floor.<p>

"I didn't mean…" she began. "I just want to understand, maybe."

"S'okay," he mumbled. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. He shuffled over and gently slid the book from her hands. It was open to a chapter near the end on abandonment issues. He squinted at the print. "This what's wrong with me, huh?"

"I…I don't know," she replied, clearly tongue-tied. Surprising even himself, he handed the book back to her.

"Well…" he said softly. "I'll make us somethin' to eat. Why don't ya finish reading it and then tell me." He ran his hand along her jaw. "Kay?"

She held his hand to her cheek and simply nodded.


	21. They Were Right

Over the next few days, they practiced more with the branding iron. Daryl admitted to himself that she'd had a point about needing to compensate for her blind side. "You're gonna haveta rely on your other senses," he told her. "From now on, ya gotta pay extra attention to what you feel, hear and smell. He made a muted sound behind her back by rubbing his fingers together and she shifted her head to the right.

"I made the noise more on the left, not the right, so we gotta recalibrate ya. Practice." He had her close her eye while he made subtle sounds with leaves, his gun, branches…whatever he could find that she might encounter on the outside. Soon they'd have to practice with a real walker, but he didn't want to mention that yet and upset her.

He watched her intently when her eye was closed, because aside from when she was sleeping, that was pretty much the only time he could study her at length. Her lips were pursed in concentration as he made the various sounds, and when she called out her answers and got them correct, she brightened a little more each time. She looked particularly young then, like a child playing a peekaboo game and finally getting what the fuss was all about. Being with her through this, he felt a pang of regret at all the shit she'd already had to deal with before she even hit 20, but over the past couple of days she seemed to at least lighten up a little. There were times when he still caught her in a sad, faraway look, but they seemed a little less frequent. The better she got at potentially defending herself, the less depressed she seemed to be.

The nights, though, they remained…odd. Daryl felt unease being _too_ close to her; at the same time, it made him incredibly on edge to be out of her immediate sphere; there, within that circle of space, he could feel the unsettling yet reassuring crackle of electricity between them. Basically, being around Beth Greene- especially in the dark of night- was a mess of contradictions.

He used keeping watch as a glaring excuse to avoid being in the makeshift bed at the same time. Beth didn't push him about it, and he suspected it was because of whatever she was reading in that damn book. More than once she'd been boldly devouring it right in front of him- but not yet bringing it up- and he was good with that. He'd glanced at the pages she'd been reading and words like _anger, alienation _and _relationship avoidance_ jumped out at him. He didn't even bother pretending to himself these things weren't true; there was no use.

* * *

><p>Daryl had been so encouraged by how good Beth was getting at identifying the general locations of sounds that he decided to switch it up and focus on another sense. That evening, while sitting outside around their fire, he told her to shut or cover her eye. He lit a cigarette and moved soundlessly behind her, then blew a thin, nearly non-existent stream of smoke that barely misted by her ear. She laughed, waving it away.<p>

"That's disgusting," she said. She opened her eye and turned around, and caught Daryl in what was almost a smile. He looked away, embarrassed, and took another drag. "That lit up my sense of touch _and_ smell," she said, her nose wrinkled.

He held out the cigarette, knowing that not in a million years would she take it.

"Gross, now you want me to taste it, too? I draw the line there, mister. If I'm tasting anything, it's that wine." She thumbed in the direction of the stable corridor.

He shrugged and wafted a column of smoke in her direction while she continued to pinwheel her arms to dissipate it. She laughed again and mocked him, mimicking smoking in the masculine way he did, pinching his finger and thumb together to lift the cigarette and then letting it balance loosely between his lips. When she put her lips together in a "o" to pretend blow smoke rings, Daryl leaned in and nearly kissed her, catching himself only at the last moment. _Goddamn, your little girl is hard to resist, ain't she? _Merle chided. _Ya don't watch yerself, you'll be havin' little Darlenes runnin' all over the place. Suspect I got a Merle or two out there somewhere, probably tough little bastards eatin' walkers for breakfast._

"You earned it," he said, smirking. "You wanna get drunk? Go to town."

"All right," she said, almost goading him. "Maybe I will!" When she sprung up, she almost seemed happy. She came back in a couple of minutes with the wine and frown. "Ain't no wine opener."

He laughed. "You're joking, right?"

She shook her head.

He held out his hand. "Give it here." She obliged and he looked up at her with disbelief as he whipped out his pocketknife and in one quick motion stabbed the cork and pulled it out.

"Nice to know ya got skills other than bossin' people around," she said lightheartedly, sitting back down by the fire and taking the bottle from him. She held onto the neck and tilted it back, taking a decent gulp. For a moment she looked uncertain, then declared, "better'n the moonshine."

She held it out to him, but he shook his head. "Nah. Ya know better than to offer it to me. Ya know what I'm like when I'm drunk." He stirred the fire again for lack of anything else to do.

"Yeah, yeah. A dick. Whatever. Loosen up. This ain't some potent drink, it's a little bit of red wine. You that much of a lightweight?" She held the bottle out again and shook it back and forth in front of him.

Snatching it out of her hand, he retorted, "Guess we'll find out." He took a swig. It did taste pretty good, deep and a little dry, but he wasn't going to let her know that maybe he also preferred some fancy vintage wine to a jar of whiskey someone made in their basement. They passed the bottle back and forth pretty quickly, while Beth talked about how Daryl was running her ragged with his practice sessions. It wasn't long before he felt a little drunk, if he was honest with himself. He wondered what that meant for petite little Beth.

He stood up, careful to place his feet so that he wouldn't stumble and give himself away. "Another test," he said. "Close your eye."

"Ok, taskmaster," she replied. "Bring it."

He pulled out two toothpicks from his pocket. "Hold out you hand."

She did, and he poked her lightly with them at the same time. "You just poked my hand with somethin' sharp," she reported, dutifully playing the part of student.

"That so? Something or _somethings?_" he asked.

She opened her eye and looked at the toothpicks he'd just stuck her with. He held both between his right forefinger and thumb. She felt only one but he'd stuck her with two.

"No cheating, now. Tell me each time whether you feel one or two toothpicks." He poked her again and again, and each time she'd guessed he used one, when the correct answer was two. Each time she opened her eye to see the answer, she noticed there was a little more distance between the two toothpicks.

"You're just tryin' to confuse me," she pouted.

"Uh-uh. Just wait. Don't peek."

He moved the toothpicks even further apart, and finally she exclaimed, "Ok, two! I feel two this time!" She opened her eye and he held a toothpick in each hand, hovered over her palm where he'd just pricked her with them. "See? Far enough apart, and you finally feel them both. Closer together, you only feel one. Read this in a magazine, once," he explained. "Always wanted to try that. Somethin' about ability to distinguish between one or two points of sensation and mechanoreceptors."

"Daryl the scholar," she waved her arm as if addressing royalty. She let her hand settle on his for a brief moment, then pulled it away, blushing.

"You're missin' the point," he said forcefully. "Tryin' to get ya to focus on what you _feel_. What you _think_ you feel ain't always what is reality, girl." As soon as the words left his lips he was sorry he'd phrased it that way. She suddenly seem to find the small fire they'd built very interesting and he did, as well.

"I mean," he fumbled his words, "that's why I'm trying to, y'know, get ya to synthesize all your senses and such. Ya shouldn't ever rely just on one." He was still close to her, firmly in her personal space, and he felt sparks, smelled her hair, saw her flush and heard her breathing get more shallow. All the senses, except for taste.

He cleared his throat and took another mouthful of wine in lieu of what he really wanted.

* * *

><p>Daryl pressed onward, making her practice the art of paying close attention to touch: Simulating the breeze as a walker raised its hand to clamp on her shoulder; disturbances in air she might feel if someone was coming up to attack her from behind; and how to tell if someone was holding a knife, gun or just a stick in her back.<p>

The last bit was taxing on her, he could tell by her stiff body language. This wasn't surprising given her associations with knives and guns. Still, he wouldn't let her stop. "Ya need to be able to tell the difference, so you can accurately assess the situation and know what to do to get yourself outta it. You wouldn't believe how many fools try that old trick of shovin' a stick in your back hoping to intimidate ya, and trust me it feels _nothin'_ like a blade or a gun nozzle. Couple of times, some jackasses attempted that on me and Merle. We actually laughed. That got us more of a beatin' than if we'd just pretended we were really at their mercy." He grinned. "Worth it, though, for them to know they weren't puttin' one over on us."

"You had lots of people shoving guns and knives in your back?" She asked, with a hint of either respect or repulsion, he wasn't sure.

He shrugged. "Fair share," he responded. "Merle irritated a lot of people." He shifted around the firewood to get a better flame. The wood popped, causing Beth to jump a little. "My brother had a habit of messin' up in ways that people didn't appreciate none too much. Me, I was usually was just lookin' for a fight."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Perpetually pissed off, I guess."

"Makes sense," she mused, offhandedly. "Book says anger's often an issue." She said it as if she were discussing the weather, then moved on as if continuing some other conversation by announcing, ""Yeah, I'm pretty tired."

"Huh?" He asked, distracted. _Abandonment. Alienation. Advoidance. Anger. That's a lot of A's, _Merle commented. _What she gonna think of you__ by the time she reads all the way through the Z problems, huh? You're a whole alphabet soup o' issues, baby brother._

"I'm tired," she repeated, her words slurring some.

"Oh." He saw that she did indeed look worn out, which probably was enhanced by the wine. "Ya wanna go in and rest?"

"Don't wanna be by myself. Can I just rest with you inside? You can just sit near me, ya don't have to lie down."

He shrugged, secretly welcoming the idea. The wine was making him sleepy, too, and his thoughts were too fuzzy to resist. "Suit yourself." After they worked together to put out the fire, he followed her into the stable. She hopped up on the straw mound and he did the same, positioning himself a respectable distance away.

He nearly leapt out of his skin when she crawled over and put her head in his lap. "What the hell you doin'?" he choked out.

She yawned. "Suitin' myself." She tucked her hands up under her chin and with her bandaged side mostly hidden, he could almost imagine she was whole again, and the nightmare with Dawn hadn't happened. He was about to shoo her out of his lap when he realized just how exhausted she really was. She'd barely settled in and was already practically asleep. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Goddamn, he was tired, too. He lightly rubbed her shoulder until she shuddered a deep sigh, letting him know she was, indeed, asleep.

* * *

><p>He stormed past her, ready to walk out. He'd had enough of her talking about being damaged and worthless. When he got to the door, though, instead of leaving like he'd intended, he slammed it shut and locked it. Anger Issues? He'd show her anger issues. He turned on his heel and stomped back to where she was standing. "You've said that crap about you not being worth it for last time," he roared.<p>

"Well, I've had enough of you, too," she spat back. "Open your eyes! At least you got 'em to open 'em! Go find yourself someone more suited to you. What about Rose? Ain't she more your speed anyway?"

He squared his shoulders and although he didn't actually touch her, he walked forward with enough intensity that she immediately backed up until he had her up against the wall. "Grow up!" he yelled, inches from her face, though his eyes traveled downward. It was impossible for him to pretend she wasn't wearing just panties and a bra.

She grabbed her jeans to put on. "Me? Ha! Me grow up? You're the biggest…"

"Don't you dare get dressed," he interrupted, ripping the jeans out of her hands.

"What're…"

"I said, don't get dressed. You deaf now?"

"Daryl…" she said, a hint of fear in her voice.

"I'm gonna show you once and for all none of the bullshit you say about me is true. I don't care about your scars, _any_ of them. I don't care that you aren't like Michonne or Carol or Maggie or even fucking Rose." She stood there listening, arms hanging limply at her sides, shivering. He could see her nipples pushing through her thin bra. In response, his erection strained even harder against his jeans.

"I don't believe ya…" Beth said, hoisting her chin high.

"You don't haveta believe what I say," he breathed heavily. "I don't give a shit right now, frankly." He dragged her over to the straw bed and sat down. "No sitting for you," he said, giving her a look that said 'I dare you to challenge me.' " Take everything off stand there for me." She shuddered, but slowly undid her bra and shimmied out of it. Then she reluctantly hooked her thumbs over her panties and slid them off, stepping out of them and leaving them pooled at her feet. He scanned her body appreciatively, stopping to take in her perfectly carved breasts, noting how taut her nipples were from the cold. His eyes slid over her gently curved hips to the tuft of blonde hair in front.

"Daryl, please…" she begged.

"I ain't gonna fuck ya." He said, decisively, his eyes dark. He didn't know how he was saying the things he was, but they were just coming out and he didn't feel he had much control over it. Maybe it was the wine. "Come closer to me," he ordered. She walked up so that her pussy was directly in front of his face. "Spread your legs." She tentatively stepped her feet apart. "Jesus Christ, wider than that," he said, almost in a whine. Once she did, he had enough space to fit his face in between her legs and just breathe in her musky scent. He closed his eyes, wondering how it could seem both sweet and potent at the same time. "Mother of God," he muttered.

He leaned back to look up into her face, which was a mix of excitement and yearning. "Please," she whispered.

"I ain't gonna fuck you now," he growled. "Not with my dick, not with my tongue." He put his head back between her legs and inhaled again. No matter how much he wanted to bury his face in her and taste her, he wasn't going to allow it to happen. A shock of pleasure and pain shot equally through his core. And denying himself in this way, well, the pain and agony won out...which he knew was the right thing, because it was deserved. _I deserve to be denied, _he told himself. _I deserve this kind of torture. I deserve to be so close, and yet so far._ He took in another deep breath, and now he knew for sure that she was turned on, too, because he watched her juices drip down the inside of her thigh. He couldn't hold back a moan, and hearing it bounce off the barn walls turned him on even more. It was too much. Even without touching himself he came, and he came fucking _hard._

He woke with a start and, realizing what happened, scrambled to get her out of his lap.

"What? Wha…?" She called out, trying to collect her wits. Her head bounced almost comically off his lap and onto the straw.

"Nothin'," he said irritably. "Go back to sleep."

_"_OK," she half-mumbled, half-snored.

_Goddamn, what's__ the matter with me? _He left her and paced the concrete walkway between the stalls. His pants were sticking to him uncomfortably and the undeniable smell of semen filled the air. _Christ! _He felt like banging his head against the wall, but didn't want to wake her and have to explain.

He paced some more, and tried to get the images out of his mind, which was fucking impossible. _The hell! _ The barn door was begging to be punched.

_Come on, it ain't like you never thought about it before, baby brother. It surrrrre is different when it's in living Technicolor, tho, huh, bro? Ooo, eee, imagine what it's gonna be like when you finally do it for real... _"Christ, shut the fuck up, Merle, seriously," he muttered. Then he spotted the clean clothes in the corner and dropped his head in his hands. "Fucking Rose," he added, exasperated.

He quickly changed, then poured water over his other jeans and underwear scrubbed them to get out the stains. He spread the washed clothes out to dry and when he was done, he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, contemplating what to do. Having that montage seared in his brain, well, he knew he somehow needed to get himself far away from her. And the sooner, the better. _I'll go up and get Carol, or Shepherd… bring 'em back down, they'll be here before she's awake,_ he reasoned.

He paced some more. _I should check on her before I leave. Make sure she's all right. _He peeked into the stall to make sure she was still out, but couldn't tell from where he was standing. _I just need to make sure she's still asleep. Not like I can leave her a note._ He walked into the stall. If_ I run, I can have them back here quickly. _He crept in closer. _She won't even know I was gone. _He stopped short when she made a little noise in her sleep. He was afraid she'd wake right then and there, so he gently shushed her, and moved in to rub her back. Maybe he could lull her back into a deeper sleep; indeed, she seemed to settle quickly at his touch. Letting out a breath he'd been holding, he drew the blanket up over her and rubbed her back a little more for good measure. _Maybe she'd want Rose. I'll ask the women; they can decide who's best to come down and be with her._

Beth sighed his name in her sleep; it was soft but absolutely clear. With that, his hand froze and a wave of apprehension crashed over him, nearly making him nauseous right then and there. _I can't leave._ He felt like stones were blocking his airway. _I can't leave her._

They were right.

_I can't leave her. _

They were all fucking right; he didn't know _shit. _

_I don't WANT to leave her. _

_I __WON'T__ leave her. _

There was no denying it any longer: He was in utterly and completely in love with Beth Greene.


	22. Later

Daryl didn't know how to act around Beth now. Whenever he looked at her, all he could think of was how he didn't know the right thing to do or say. He couldn't imagine 'I love you' rolling off his tongue, no matter how true it was. Plus, he just didn't trust whatever it was she was feeling toward him. She was young; to her, this might be some kind of crush. Soon enough, someone more similar to her- more appropriate- would come along, and she'd see the error of her ways in messing around with some old gritty redneck. And he didn't just worry about being dumped; he was used to people tossing him aside. He worried about his temper and what he might do to the other guy, even if he didn't have any right to do anything. There was a final scenario that ran through Daryl's mind, and it scared him most of all: What if she DID feel the same? He'd never dealt with his or anyone else's feelings like this, and he was supposed to be the adult, the one who was supposed to have the answers…

Beth was finishing up a granola bar, sitting on the floor and looking at U2 album liner notes. The book sat near her, upside down and splayed open. "So… what're we doin' today?" She asked it so enthusiastically that it irritated him.

"Um," he said in an almost embarrassed tone, "whatever ya want," he mumbled.

"Well, what do you think I need to work on?"

"I don't know, Beth," he replied. "You pick."

"Oh, come on, taskmaster. I know that you've got something pla—"

"_Whatever._ I got nothin' planned," he grumbled. "I don't know what we should do." _I don't know what to do... I don't know what to do... _

She put the album down and slowly stood. "Daryl," she said cautiously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'!" he almost barked. "Why does something always haveta be wrong with me?" _I don't know what to do. "_Can't I just not know somethin'?" He bent to pick up a bottle of water but fumbled it. It crashed to the ground, popping off the lid. Water flowed everywhere. "Christ! Why you lookin' to me for all the answers, you've got a mind, don't ya?" _I'm supposed to be the adult...I'm supposed to know..._

She didn't say anything. In fact, she didn't react at all. She just stood there, rock still. He glared at her, daring her to respond. But she just continued silently staring at him.

His eyes traveled down to the book. He saw her eyes dart there, as well. _Don't know why I let her read that thing. Don't know why I took it in the first place. None of it matters anyway. All that stuff happened a long time ago. I ain't gonna play the victim. It's done. I moved on. It's no big deal, so what, so I was beat and ignored. Merle's right, I'm a pussy..._

"Daryl, just calm down," She said quietly. "We don't have to do any-" her voice trailed off.

He rubbed his fist and paced. _It was__ a long time ago. So what if my asshole drunk dad beat me for nothin', I can't blame him for how I act today. I ain't a Goddamn puppet. I call the shots in my life. _

He kicked at the box of supplies. "And why the hell do we have to stay down here by ourselves in this stupid barn, anyway? I mean, what's the point?" He unclenched his fist and ran his hand over his face. "I got more important things to do. Ask Carol to teach ya, she's got it all figured out."

His heart was pounding, and he knew he better remove himself before things got even worse. Why couldn't he just say what he wanted? Why couldn't he just tell her how he felt? Why couldn't he man up? He stormed outside and plopped himself down on the ground, raising up his knees and wrapping his arms around them. "Shit," he exhaled.

He didn't even hear her come out, he was so deep in thought. Before he could process what was happening, she was sitting right next to him. "Well," she said slowly. "You were right."

"About what?" He snapped.

"You said you'd hurt me," she said, her voice flat. "But I get it."

Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get _what," _he groused, picking at rocks on the ground.

"It's like before. You ain't really mad; you're upset and afraid." He knew she was referring to his breakdown at the cabin.

"So you're an expert now, huh?" he asked, almost taunting her.

"No. But I understand a little better now, I think." Her speech was metered, as if she were concerned she'd talk too slow or too fast. "It's ok to be afraid, Daryl."

"Afraid of _what?"_

"This," she said, moving her hand back and forth between them.

"Ain't no '_this_.'"

She sighed. "Guess I'm wrong, then." He could feel her looking at him expectantly, but he kept his eyes glued to the ground.

_Man up! Tell her! Tell her! _

After a few moments of silence, she stood.

_Tell her! Tell her!_

"Well, then," she began, sounding defeated. "I'll go get the stuff together. We can head back to the school now."

He squinted up at her but said nothing. _Tell her! Te—_

She turned and headed back into the stable. Daryl stayed rooted, his insides shredding even if outwardly he sat profoundly still. She emerged shortly thereafter, carrying the duffle with the record player, her branding iron hanging off a hook he created for her belt. He winced, seeing her with the present he gave her. Guilt crept in, and he lifted himself up off the ground.

"See you up there," she said with feigned friendliness. And she stalked onward.

Daryl watched her go, mouth agape. He didn't want her to get too far ahead, so he ducked quickly into the barn and grabbed the box of remaining supplies. Truth was, he could've caught up to her easily, even carrying the box, but he preferred to be a few feet behind her. He'd already messed things up enough for today.

As Beth rounded the corner to head to the front of the school, he saw Shepherd walking out to meet her. She slipped the duffle off Beth's shoulder. "Welcome back," she said, patting her on the back. Daryl hung back a bit, waiting for them to go inside first.

* * *

><p>It all seemed to happen in slow motion. He felt the explosion before he heard it, the forceful ball of heat throwing him backwards. The ground rushed up to meet him so hard he feared it would swallow him up. He groaned as his bones vibrated from the impact. After what seemed like an eternity he was able to open his eyes.<p>

Billowing, black smoke twisted up into the blue sky. People were frantically yelling, but they sounded muffled, or as if they were under water. He stumbled to his feet, unsure for a second where he was. _The school! _His eyes were bleary, but through the thick haze of smoke he was able to make out that one side of the school was a growing pillar of fire. Debris lay everywhere.

_Beth. _He tried to call out her name but couldn't, with all the black soot soaking into his lungs. He lurched forward, wiping his eyes. They stung from the smoke, making it hard to keep them open. _Beth. _There was more shouting but he couldn't tell whose voices they were over the roaring flames.

He tried to run, but it was more of a lumbering. He looked down and saw something had lodged in his leg. There was blood…a lot of it. Ears still ringing, he wandered in the general direction he thought the voices were coming from. _Beth. _Stumbling over a large chunk of stone, he nearly went down. That's when he spied a tangle of arms and legs. His heart sank as he dragged himself over.

It was Shepherd. He rolled her over and felt for a pulse, even though he already knew from the extent of her injuries she was dead. When he confirmed it, he took his knife and sunk it into the base of her skull. A cry escaped him, not only for Shepard, but because he feared he would be doing the same to Beth in a matter of moments.

Someone was violently coughing. He righted himself and hobbled in the direction of the noise. Permeating the black air was a spot of yellow. He redoubled his efforts to run- it was her, he knew it from her shirt. His injured leg dragged behind and he had to use his hands to help pull it forward. When he finally reached the bit of yellow, he fell to his knees. "Beth," he croaked.

She was sitting up, holding a bleeding arm. "Daryl…" she cried. "I thought…" her voice was strangled.

"Beth…" He put his hands under her arms and dragged her to him, bloody arm be damned. He lowered his head and unceremoniously smashed his lips against hers. He put one hand behind her head to push her even closer. It wasn't a kiss as much as a desperate display of his need to get as close to her as possible, to confirm that she was truly alive. He pulled his head away and gathered her up completely in his arms. She was almost sitting in his lap, painfully moving the large shrapnel in his leg. He didn't care.

"Shepherd," she eked out. "She was with me."

"She's gone, Beth. We gotta go." Struggling, he somehow pulled them both to their feet.

Beth doubled over and coughed some more. It was then she screamed, "Your leg!"

"Later," he coughed in return. The blood loss was making him lightheaded, the heat from the flames oppressive. They staggered toward the shouting, holding one another up. "Help! Over here!" Beth shrieked. It was a good thing she had enough breath in her to call for help; his lungs were folding up and he had next to nothing left. "Help! Please! We're over here!"

"Beth! Daryl!" It was Carol, emerging from the wall of smoke. "Thank God!" When she saw that the two of them draped over each other and bleeding, she gasped. Immediately she wedged herself between them and started tugging them forward. Daryl noticed blood was trickling from one of her ears.

"Over here! Three of us! Hurry!" Carol yelled. "Over here!"

The blood from Beth's arm was dripping down him and he could feel Carol buckling from his weight. If someone else didn't come help them soon, they'd be done.

"Over here!" Carol called out again. "Hurry!"

"We can do it," Carol encouraged, coughing, tripping as she inched them ahead. He wasn't sure at first if he was hallucinating, or if he really saw moving, blurry images come into view. As they got closer, Daryl knew it was Carl, holding a screaming Judith, and Rick dragging a limp Noah across the grass. "Rick!" Carol screamed.

Rick dropped Noah's body and bolted over. "You're alive…" he was breathing hard. "You're alive!"

"Dad!" There was no mistaking the terror in that call.

Their heads whirled to Carl. The walkers had been drawn by the noise and light, and they were pushing at the gate en mass. They were also gathering in large clumps around the fence, crawling over each other in their attempts to reach the light.

"Noah?!" Beth asked hoarsely, her eye turning to the unmoving young man.

Rick shook his head.

"No!" Beth wailed.

Sasha rounded the corner at a full run. "The walkers! Gate's gonna break down any second. Ty and Mason are trying to hold it, Gabriel, Michonne and Rose are starting the cars. We have to go!" Her chest was heaving and her shoulders weighed down with what looked like every weapon she'd been able to grab, including Daryl's crossbow.

"LET'S _GO. _NOW!" Rick commanded. He glanced at Daryl's leg and failed to hide his alarm. He rushed to grab Daryl out from under Carol's arm. "I'll help him, you stay close behind with Beth," he ordered. "Carl! You be right by my side! Have your weapon ready!"

A blood-curdling scream pierced the air. "Tyrese!" Sasha cried. She took off at full speed toward the gate. Daryl's leg was numb, but he could still feel the sticky wetness of blood coating it. He felt like he might throw up. "Come on, brother," Rick urged.

Beside them, Beth dug in her heels, holding Carol back. "The others!"

Rick shook his head. "Jack and Willow are gone. The rest are waiting for us."

"Not Shepherd," Daryl managed to get out.

Rick stiffened at the news, then thrust Daryl forward. "We have to leave." Just then a figure came barreling toward them and Rick raised his pistol.

"No! No! It's me." Michonne shouted. "The walkers! They're in! They got Tyrese. Hurry! The cars are waiting!" Michonne ducked under Daryl's other shoulder and they heaved him forward. A walker headed right toward them, and without missing a beat Rick raised his pistol and blasted its head. Several others shuffled towards them, and the sound of Carol's pistol sounded out behind them.

"Almost there!" Michonne huffed. Sure enough, Daryl could just make out the car engines above the roar of the fire and the walkers' hisses.

"What happened," Daryl slurred.

"Jack and Willow," she breathed out. "In the basement, working. Something went wrong. It was an accident," Michonne said, anguish in her voice. "An accident."

"I'll be right back," Rick said to Michonne. "Keep him going best you can. Carl! _Now_!" He grabbed his son's arm and ushered him into a waiting car, Judith still yowling her head off.

Rick sprinted back and helped Michonne drag Daryl the rest of the way. Together they managed to shove him in the back next to Carl. Michonne spun around to lop the heads off of two walkers that were almost upon them. Rick waved Carol to the car right next door and opened the back door, forcefully pushing in both women. Rose was already at the wheel. Mason came careening toward them, managing to stab a walker in the head before he opened the passenger door and slid in, slamming it shut just in time.

Daryl watched through the window as Rick spun back around to the their car and jumped into the passenger seat. Michonne was already at the wheel, eyes steeled. "Sasha and Gabriel?" She asked.

"In the third car already," Rick replied. "Ready?"

She gravely nodded.

The gate was completely pushed down and walkers were spilling in, moving like cattle toward the beckoning flames. Michonne took the lead and gunned the car, mowing down corpses and clearing a path for the two other cars behind them. The windshield was awash with blood and guts. Daryl groaned in pain with each jolting impact.

"Dad!" He heard Carl yell, though it sounded as if he were a million miles away and not right next to him. Judy's crying sounded like just an echo. He wondered how it had turned from day to night so quickly, like dusk was falling at warp speed. Suddenly he felt pleasantly warm and deliciously sleepy.

"Daryl!" It was Rick. "Daryl! Stay with me, buddy!" Whatever Rick wanted could wait; he needed to rest. Later. He'd help do rounds around the prison later...right now... sleep. They were expecting him to hunt soon, after all. All those new folks from Woodbury. Everyone needed a lot more from him now. He could handle it. Just an extra deer or two, maybe a few more rabbits than usual. They'd be fine.

Someone was shaking him. "Daryl!"

"Later," he slurred, and closed his eyes.


	23. So'm I

"Daryl!" Someone was calling his name again. Carol's face swam into view. "Bite down, hard."

_Bite…what? Why, _he thought, panicking.

"Daryl, _please._" It was Beth's voice, and he could tell she'd been crying.

Someone clamped his jaw down on something that felt and tasted like bark. _What the…._

Unexpectedly he felt white-hot pain searing through him and smelled burning flesh. He knew it was his own. He cried out and bit down again because he had to, not because someone told him to. When the torture subsided for a moment, all he could do was pant. Questions swirled in his head, but he couldn't speak. _Have I been bitten? Have I been…?_

He thoughts were interrupted by Carol's desperate voice: "I'm sorry, Daryl. We have to do it again."

Throbbing, intense heat…or was it cold? He couldn't even tell anymore, it was so agonizing. He struggled, but someone - or something –- was holding him down. _What's happening? What's… _

"He's too strong!"

"Don't care how you do it, hold him down better," he heard Carol order. "Make sure that stick stays in his mouth. I'm going again."

_He was in trouble. Something bad had happened._ Then bone-melting heat bore down on him once more, and he could sense his body shutting down. As his vision dimmed, he heard Merle's voice, and this time he didn't think he was imagining it: _Might see ya soon on the flip side, little bro!_

* * *

><p>"Daryl. Can you hear me, brother?"<p>

He groaned.

"Daryl. Open your eyes."

He tried, but they felt welded shut.

"Rick, I think he can hear you!" _Beth. It was Beth._

He tried again, but his eyelids just wouldn't cooperate.

* * *

><p>"Daryl." <em>Beth.<em>

"Yeah," he mumbled. He felt cold and wet, as if he'd just been in a chilling rainstorm.

"Open your eyes."

"I'm tryin'."

"Ain't no 'try,' just do it," she said.

"You Yoda?" he croaked, certain he was dreaming.

"Listen to her." _M__ichonne was speaking. She was alive.. "_Pull it together, man, and open your eyes."

"Can't," he said. "I'm just dreamin'."

* * *

><p>His hand. It was in someone else's. He jerked it away. Who was touching him?<p>

"Shhh… it's me, Carol."

Jagged pain clawed up and down his leg. Had he imagined everyone talking to him? Or had it been real? _Beth. Beth was with me. _

With no small effort he opened his eyes. Carol's gray, concerned eyes locked with his. "It's ok," she said. "I had to cauterize your leg out in the woods. You lost a lot of blood."

"My… leg…?" A vision of Hershel formed in his mind, followed by one of Bob. Had he lost his leg? Terror shot through him.

"Your leg will be ok," she said quietly. "You're just we-…" He could tell she'd been going to say 'weak' and changed course: "You just need time to recover."

"Ya save it?" His voice sounded as if it were going to give out at any moment. He was thirsty and his throat felt thick.

She smiled and gave a short, single nod.

"Thanks," he mumbled, placing his hand on her arm.

She shrugged in response.

It was bright. He closed his eyes again, remembering now how his leg had been slick and sticky with blood, how the piece of wood had been embedded deep at a sickening angle… Carol and Beth…they had tried to hold him up…Michonne and Rick, shoving him into a car? He wasn't sure. Wait… Walkers. Everywhere? Everywhere. Smoke. Fire! More walkers. Screams. _Screams._

His stomach lurched as the entire scene came flooding back to him all at once.

_Tyreese._

_Noah._

_Shepard._

_Willow._

_Jack._

He choked out, "All… gone." He opened his eyes again and squinted, realizing the glare in his eyes wasn't caused by the sun, but by electric lights. _Lights? Electric lights! Something ain't right. _

Carol responded, "School's gone, yes. And we lost…we lost a lot of people." Her voice somehow remained steady, which Daryl found disconcerting.

_Somethin' ain't right, _he thought again, his heart thrumming.

"But we're still here, Daryl," she continued. "We're not dead. The rest…they're ok, too." She brushed the hair out of his eyes. "Beth, too, don't worry," she added almost nonchalantly. "We're all battered and a bit broken, but we're not ashes." She was echoing an earlier conversation they'd had.

_Not ashes. Is that code? Am I supposed to figure somethin' out? It don't add up. _His breathing became faster and shallower as panic took up residence in his lungs. He tried to lift himself up on one elbow. It was then he realized a bed held him up. Not straw, not the floor, but an actual bed. Plump pillows. Crisp white sheets. His eyes trailed down his arm. An IV. His first instinct was to grab it with his other hand and try to pull it out.

_Goddamn crazy cops captured us again! We're back in that hellhole! Back where Beth was… _Looking around wildly, he managed spit out,"Grady!"

Carol jumped at the suddenly loudness. She grabbed his arm before he pulled out the needle. "Don't! We're not at Grady! Lie back down. _Please!_" He stopped struggling, but an arctic coldness spread slowly throughout his body. With his mind spinning it was impossible to make sense of anything at all.

"Listen to me," Carol firmly said. "You've been in and out for a few days. You probably don't remember much, if anything. We've driven far."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Where're we?"

"Just outside of DC. Just listen. At the school, after the explosion, Sasha and Rose grabbed all the weapons they could, but that's it. We had no supplies. We didn't know what to do. It was really Michonne's call; she convinced us to follow the original plan and to head to DC, hoping we could track down the others."

He tensed, waiting for whatever bad news was going to be delivered.

"We scavenged along the way. But aside from some aspirin, bandages and a few canned goods, we weren't having much luck." Though her face remained placid, her eyes betrayed her: _Pain. The group had experienced some kind of pain_, he thought.

"Eventually we ran out of gas. A big storm came and we holed up in a barn. Had a heck of a time wrangling you inside." She paused and then looked away. "And there was Judith. She was hungry, thirsty. Crying and calling the walkers' attention to us, even in the barn."

Daryl swallowed hard. _This is it. Judith is gone. It's over. It's all over. _"She's dead," he concluded, his voice flat.

"No, Daryl, no!" Carol responded quickly. "But as a group we were in bad shape. We had no food. We all had injuries of some sort from the blast. We were worried about infection. You were drifting in and out of consciousness, and you'd lost _so_ much blood. It was…" she stopped and composed herself. "We were…worried."

He closed his eyes and chewed on his thumb.

"Turns out two… gentlemen…had been following us and were assessing up from afar…" her voice trailed off.

Daryl's eyes flew open with alarm. "Ya mean spyin'?!" _We're in danger. _He gasped the words, "Crossbow? Gun?" trying hard to sit up again. _Why wasn't Carol carrying her weapon? The hell!_

"Daryl, stop!" She said, her hand on his chest. "These people… they're friends. They helped us." _That doesn't sound like Carol at all_, he reasoned. _Why is she sounding so positive and willing to trust strangers?! _

"Friends?" he coughed out bitterly. If anything, his dread was gaining speed, not being assuaged. _Ain't no friends out there anymore. They must be forcing her to say this stuff._ He felt dizzy and he couldn't really wrap his mind around what Carol was saying. _They have me on drugs. They're trying to keep me subdued._

"There's a whole community, Daryl. Electricity. Water." Her voice took on a lighter tone. "Care. Houses! I mean, real houses. People. Kids. It's what we've been searching for."

_No! No! There's something wrong, there ain't no friends, no community. It's never what it seems. They're keeping me weak! _He motioned for her to come closer. When she did, he whispered, "they take us prisoner?"

"No; it's not like that. You'll see. Just rest now." She patted his shoulder. "You're in good hands." He thought she said that last part just a bit too loud.

It was then Daryl noticed someone who looked like a doctor hovering outside the door. Her eyes followed his and she rose. She said something quietly to the man and then shut the door so that she and Daryl were alone. As she made her way back to him, he noticed that she was spotlessly clean and wearing tan khakis and a prim-looking sweater. He decided then and there he MUST be on drugs, because she looked like a matronly librarian. He'd never seen Carol dress like that, _ever_, even when Ed had his thumb on her, keeping her down. "You look ridiculous," he slurred.

"Thank you," she said back to him, with a wry smile. "You should see yourself. I think they took a hose to you in your sleep." She handed him a cup of water, which he gratefully drank, wiping his mouth with the hand that didn't have an IV attached.

She glanced back at the door to make sure it remained closed, then bent down and put her lips close to his ear. "Rick thinks it's safe here. But until we know for sure, gotta keep up appearances. Just don't say much. I'll be back in soon. They think I'm a helpless den-mother type. Let 'em think that. Don't blow my cover."

"Helpless my ass," he murmured, glad that at least his voice seemed to be working better after the water. He took a deep breath and let his eyes roam over his clean skin, smelling the antiseptic that lingered in the room. "You really think we're safe?" he added, grabbing her arm before she moved away too far from the bed.

She leaned back down to his ear and whispered even more quietly, "Pookie, they've been behind these walls since near the beginning. They should be _way_ more worried of us than we should be of them."

"Hard to take you seriously when you look like the head of the PTA," he grumbled in return. "But, all right. I'll do what ya say. Though," he added, "I need a cigarette."

She shook her head, walked over and opened the door again. She reached outside to where there must've been a table. "This is the best I can do," she said when she came back to his bedside, handing him some applesauce. He waved it away irritably. "It's homemade!" she sang in her best Junior League voice, at the same time giving him a stern, 'I-said-play-along' glare.

He took a couple of bites for show and handed it back. "Ain't the same as a smoke," he complained, though he had to admit it tasted pretty good, all chunky and cinnamon-y, like someone's grandma might've made.

She shrugged and straightened, announcing even more boisterously and brightly, "Anyway, someone's been waiting to see you."

"Ain't in the mood for no doctor now," he spat, dismissing the idea with a sneer.

"Not the doctor."

He looked up, and through the doorframe walked a freshly scrubbed Beth, looking older in dark non-ripped jeans and purple v-neck sweater. If not for her bandaged head and arm, she would've looked straight out of a mid-western college brochure. All she needed was a backpack slung over her shoulder. She didn't ask if she could come in; she just strode confidently to his bedside. She and Carol looked at each other.

Carol stated in a staged motherly voice, "I told our boy what he missed over the past few days, bless his soul." Daryl rolled his eyes, and she did the same in return. "I'll check on you later, honey, 'kay?"

Daryl grunted when she left the room. "Well, that's gratin'," he remarked, referring to the New Carol, shaking his head.

* * *

><p>Unlike him and his cowardly ways while she was holed up at Grady, Beth didn't hesitate to grab his hand while he was awake. She stood there next to his bed, scanning his body, her lips in a tight line. A much smaller portion of her face and head were covered with the new bandage, pink skin and tufts of hair that hadn't seen daylight in a while peeking through.<p>

"Welcome back." Her voice resonated throughout his body like miniature bells. He squeezed her hand lightly and she broke into a genuine smile. She had tiny dimples; why hadn't he noticed that before, he wondered. They were carved into her skin with perfect symmetry, as if designed by an artist.

He frowned. All he could think of was how he almost lost her _again. _What if the next disaster that befell them separated them for good? He knew he'd run out of second chances. He glanced around the room, trying hard not to feel trapped. Maybe this was their last chance, right here, right now. Who knew for sure?

Her smile disappeared and she stiffened. "What's wrong," she asked apprehensively.

"Nothin'. Just tired, is all." He held up her hand and studied it. No wonder she played piano with those long, slender fingers of hers.

"Sleep then," she said kindly.

"Not that kinda tired," he said, rubbing his thumb over her hers.

She looked unsure. "Me too. Tired, I mean. Got me a new scar to add to my list." She sighed, pointing to her arm with her free hand. "Maybe I oughta start a calendar: Scar of the Month."

"Don't mean that, neither." He let her fingers slide out of his and rubbed his eyes with both palms. "I mean, tired of losin' people."

"Way it is now. All of us, we just don't know…" she played with the hem of her new sweater. "Except for you, Daryl Dixon," she gave a sad half-smile, meeting his eyes for a split second before they both looked away. "Still think you'll be the last man standing."

Hearing that again made his insides turn to stone. "Nah," he said, though he worried she might be right. Was that to be his ultimate, hellish fate? "You're like a pheonix, Beth Greene. Ya keep on rising. Don't think nothin' can keep ya down for long." He watched her face light up at his comment and he cursed himself for not fully understanding the influence he had over her until now.

Nervously twisting her hands, she moved closer to the bed. "I, ah, did a lot of thinkin' while you were in and out of consciousness," she confessed softly. "At some point, I gotta grow up. This is the world now, and Daddy wouldn't want me givin' up. Mama either." She peeked at him. "And Maggie's out there somewhere, maybe even really close by."

_And I'm right here,_ he said to himself. _I don't want ya givin'up, either._

She continued, her voice low. "Wasn't used to seein' you like that. You know, the injured one. Made me realize I wanted you to make it…for me. And that I… I wanted to be there. For you, I mean." She stopped playing with her sweater and tensed up as if waiting for him to fly off the handle or to tell her to stop.

He froze. He'd thought almost those exact things when he found her in the barn with the knife.

She sucked in a breath before she whispered, "You said you needed to know that I wanted to live." She paused, rubbing her hands nervously on her jeans. "Well, I do."

Where the rapid surge of strength came from he didn't know, but he managed to sit up and wrap his arms around her tiny waist, pulling her even closer to the bed. She stood there in silence, her pulse quickening, his hands clasped tightly behind her back. He rested his head on her belly, feeling it rise and fall with each of her shaky breaths. A soft palm stroked his head.

His breathing caught as she pulled back and lowered herself so that she sat on the bed. They folded into each other's embrace, in a holding pattern like that for what seemed like hours but must have been mere minutes. All the while a primitive warmth spread throughout his body, brimming and spilling over into hers. He knew she felt the same sensation; he wasn't sure how he knew, but he did. It was as if there was no beginning and no end to either of them, like a warm pool of water. She nestled her head on his shoulder, her heart fluttering so fast he could feel it through his clothes and hers. "You smell like strawberries," he said, inhaling her freshly shampooed hair.

She looked up at him at the same time he looked down and time screeched to a halt. He didn't question himself, or her, or give any thought to anything at all.

His fingers trailed down her cheek and along her jawline, stopping at her chin to tip it up further. They locked eyes, and for once Daryl didn't look away. She reached up tentatively and traced his mouth with her own fingertips. He trapped her hand in his and bent down, stopping just before their lips touched. They each wavered, a hair's width away from exploring whatever it was going on between them, breathing each other's breaths, trembling.

Without warning the aching anticipation to kiss her overwhelmed him, and he leaned forward and gently enveloped her lips with his. He moved his mouth slowly, carefully, bunching her hair in his fists to calm his quaking hands. When he felt her melt into him, he groaned softly, instinct willing him to tease apart her lips with the tip of his tongue. Beth responded, opening up for him without hesitation, tasting of apples and cinnamon. She tilted her head and surprised him by gently grabbing his bottom lip between her teeth, at the same time stroking the stubble on his cheeks with her delicate hands. She tugged on his lip and then swiped her tongue across it.

With that, he lost all resolve. He leaned aggressively into her and kissed her more urgently, assaulting her lips with his, pouring all that he'd been holding back in it: the denial, frustration, desire, fear, tenderness... Beth wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and pressed her breasts firmly into his chest, darting her tongue around until he caught it and gently sucked on it. He felt her bones disintegrate and she released a moan into his mouth.

He broke them apart for a moment, their foreheads resting on one other's, each of them literally gasping for air.

"You ok?" His voice cracked with nervousness and he didn't care.

She shyly nodded, which sent further shivers up his spine.

"So'm I," he said softly, running his trembling hands along her collarbone. "So'm I."

In fact, in that single moment, Daryl Dixon was markedly more than just "ok."


End file.
